Back to the crime scene

His prints are everywhere

His scent rests in every corner 

It enters my lungs like a rapid poison

So that i am not able to breath

The studio trapped so many moments

All emotions are screaming from the walls

It feels like an abandoned museum

Some pieces are lost

Yet it captures the history

The essence of it all

Being in it has become torture 

Every piece of furniture tells me a bit of us

This studio is a dark room

Filled with analog photographs

It captures all the truth 

You may not be here but i can feel you

– just my notes
(The image above was taken from tumblr)


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