graveyard memory

“being a mystery isn’t easy at all. some people think they know who you are but they don’t have a clue.” 
“everyone has a double life” she purrs. yes, momoko.
“momoko – what does that mean?” I asked her gently
“peach blossom. my schoolmates thought I was called after a toy but nowadays it sounds very romantic.“ Pfirsichkind
I smelled her shampoo. yum yum. it’s like summer in summer while summer’s away. a scent who prevents nightmares.
“how was your day?“ Momoko asked.
„well, a disaster. I tried to drink more than one litre of water a day. fail. aqua is best for nearly everything, I heard. you feel like somebody pressed the refresh button. my god, I wish someone would refresh my soul. for me, drinking water is a daily failure. It feels like I’m drowning. I drink and drown. so I wither like a flower.
„never had some trouble like that. let’s grab some whiskey and a shopping cart and drive through the car park. that’ll get sun in your drowning heart.“
„mo, don’t want to. I just wanna stand here and taste the wind. did you every tasted wind? I reminds me of green irish fields, graveyards, sentimental grounds, cigarettes with tears on and reed on a lake, moved by the breeze.“
„you mystify me“ momoko had no clue.
„uh. yeah. well. get the whiskey, I get the shopping cart and a fake fur foxtail.“

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