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baby, I’m gonna leave you drowning until you reach for my hand
Finally finished the second day for Kurtbastian Week, vacations. As usual, PG and super sappy. And Sebastian is smoking. Because I can.
Loneliness has a very particular taste when you add the salty edge of the beach (he writes). There was a poet who just walked into the sea, wanting to die (he remembers). But I don’t want to die (he has to remind himself every time, because that sureness fades when the cold wind of the ocean blows).