We're leaking secrets and going on ventures. If you whisper, they won't hear your sounds over the winds. Lover I don't hate you and your collection of novels. Books accompanied by sunday smiles, we've got words for days from the collective unconscious. Surfing the high-line for connections and tasting the blood-line that our minds were born from. We were born after the election in the soho house. I've been traveling miles and wrote this in the airport, can you take me to the jet stream again? Good Morning Chelsea house, hotel, home.
I'm reaching my arms out in the moment, Fuck Forever.