December 2010
8 posts
I
Plaster on my chest. Burns, feels a little tight.
Y
yellow spring tulips is all I smell and the waves is all I see and I feel safe and happy and beautiful and loved
H
I’m unafraid of this town. Though clearly, I’m not from around these parts. They can tell. I am quiet and I read The English Patient over my hotel bar & grill supper. I order lemon tea, and I am far away from whatever I didn’t want to talk about. I contemplate conversations with strangers, but rarely lift my eyes from the page.
(- http://www.mymentalmilkcrate.ca/archives/1136)