Next stop, please.

Written by


Angie StoneWish I Didn’t Miss You

And she would whisper sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, to the unbeaten pillow beside hers, “I miss the smell of the evenings in summer.” Her hair would stick to her lips and, like pins, press into her skin gently. “I miss grotty strangers rubbing up against me on public transport and feeling their sweat trickle on my skin. I haven’t felt that kind of platonic proximity in so long.”

[Buy Mahogany Soul.]

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