I say: the scorched feeling of my body after a day in the sun. Before I realize that I am now, sunburnt. My hair and my skin are salty and dry, and all I want to do is to drive home with the windows down as the wind blows in my face.
I say: viewing a riveting, emotionally exhausting live performance of the musical kind-- that reminds you that yes, you can feel and yes, you too want something more, something better, something beautiful.
i say: love, the eternal kind.
Interests: staying up late, accompanied by candlelight and music. I wish I had a record player. I could use the worn quality of the melodies and harmonies that would run alongside my cogitations. My weighty cogitations.
Big, soft, breathing eyes. Follow the path to the source. I like you the best when you are undone. Undo me, too. My hands run over your broad back. I have freckles on mine, too. Let us live by the morning light.
The moonlight dancing atop the darkened waters. I miss the Atlantic and its billowing waves.
It may be a selfish thought, but sometimes I believe that I am the only one alive out there. I too, get sucked up into the idle rhythm of everyday life. Is anyone alive out there?
The sun has been shining brightly for the past few days. I love London drenched in light.
"The wonder of these sights impels me into night-walks about her crowded streets. I often shed tears in the Strand from fullness of joy at so much life." Charles Lamb
... you must be able to step outside of yourself somehow. To possess the ability to look differently.
I finally read Slaughterhouse Five. Kurt, I know how you feel. If I ever had the chance to meet him, I'd have liked to give him a hug. I would not say a word. I'd simply walk toward him and I would wrap my arms around him. I would then step back, gaze into his soul, and then wordlessly walk away.
Outromancing the romantics, once again. I like to listen to the wind and the sounds rising from the street in these small hours of the morning.
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