I wish to live in a whitewashed house
Perhaps by the Mediterranean
Where everything smells of late afternoon sunlight and nothing reminds me of myself
Where the only ghosts are lovers that once spent a summer there and let a candle burn down and scorch the windowsill
Where enough indulgent asceticism will bleach the voices from my head
I wish to live inside a slightly depressive modern poem
So jaded and self-important
As though the world exists only when we think of it
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