Now you say Morocco
I once had a thing
A thing that I thought was everything
I ran out of my house
My father loused w drugs and prostitution
Hitting me
“Go to your whore”
I was 18.
She was everything.
I had never felt that before
That: hot love - molten love
Freedom in the belief in someone
I felt it.
It came odd.
It came late.
Parallels at nothing.
A slate without lines.
An interaction without traffic.
Alive is alive no matter what.
But you said Morocco and you made me smile
