In this house we hide our gazes behind post-it notes and scrawled handwriting, where our passion fades underneath the party atmospherics and the collision of needle with vinyl becomes overwhelming.
In this house we hide our tongues behind tears, a sea of translucency appearing from tired jades while directionless laughter fills your ears and reverberates through your memory, slowly shattering.
In this house we hide our sounds behind strands of walnut and a silent table, an outdoor setting of splintering timber and weathered paint behind overgrown grass that shelters you from attention.
In this house we’re hiding
Is it any wonder we can’t find our home?