The Evening Party

A collection of writings,
poems and photographs by an anonymous person.

2019 — present


The Evening Party

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Entry from [withheld] note application on cellular device—date created 27 Jun (circa 01:20)—rearranged for aesthetics—no further edits—the author wishes to highlight, despite drunkeness, to all & sundry: only one typo—mulitple grammatical and punctuation errors — recognised as admission, transcribed as record, posted as confession ‘through a bathroom window of tears’
I looked at your Instagram
for the first time in ages.

I really like your hair
(it makes you look like
lead singer of a seventies
folkpop band).

I look at you
and
I can still smell you.

When I see you I find it hard to breath[e]
and my eyes start watering though I wish they wouldn’t.

my throat hurts, too.

I’m not going to let you ruin Bob Dylan for me
but I miss you so much I don’t know any words
that can convey it.

My throat hurts too much
when I look at you,
these muscles at the back of it
and to the side, I don’t know
what they called but I can point
to them.

My throat is where all my breathing and blood goes.

One day things will get better
and I won’t miss you as much.

I try to avoid your Instagram.

It’s not healthy and there is so much
in this horrible world that is unhealthy.

Through a bathroom window of tears.
Mark