sugar-cotton

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dreamy aesthetics

- flickering neon motel signs that always seem to be missing a really significant letter rendering the glowing word or phrase meaningless

- carnivals that move from town to town; the air hot and ripe with secrets and the sugar-icing scent of cotton candy

- those nights when the wind sounds like the breath of the beautiful stranger sleeping next to you

- crop circles and fields of singed grass where local residents claim alien ships land on the darker eves of the year

- the back alleys of the dingiest night club on the block that look like places where serial killers claim their victims or superheroes swoop to the rescue or cults practice witchcraft

- those nineties themed diners with rollerblading waiters, jukeboxes and cold fries but bucketlist worthy milkshakes

- sitting atop a rooftop you skilfully climbed up but with a terrifying prospect of getting down, pointing to every star that never granted you wishes running your hands through your best friend’s hair and the air feels like warm milk in the throat

- listening to a stream gurgling and gargling rocks in a forest so green it’s like sitting in the heart of an emerald

- binge watching the X-Files in your pajamas there’s chocolate chip ice cream and your two dogs are cuddled up against you, one on your lap and the other curled around your ankles

- greenhouses that swim with sunlight all these exotic flowers that you can’t name aquamarine and scarlet and canary yellow blooms it smells like dirt and honeysuckle and budding life