while june is/was bad-hearted, what's left? hide like a thief deep down under my skin.
well
... I think I prefer feeling sorry now for sad, little, old me than to feel pity for the same sad, little, old broken illusions still me.
the scar still remains.
6.32 am
ok... so after it's 6:32 am in another manic, too hot monday ( I want more rain, how can I be blamed for that? ) and not a drop of sleep and a kind of bad picture, I find myself again with the desire to speak. metaphorical talking, of course. don't know, 'guess it's the SATC season 1 consequence. I wish I could be able to do more, but most of the time I find myself in that stage of "oh, everybody's doing something, working on something, studying on something, being something and you aren't, 'guess you can't." and I'm standing here, being lame, writing about it, probably typing bad english. cute, right?
oh well, talking about... nothing it is in a way... something (?), and hey, at least I'll finally go to bed in peace with myself (sort of), after finding another cup of mint tea and a piece of cookie in the kitchen.
PS: I should definitely try to find a machine to drag all my thoughts out of my head. I could write a book out of them. such a shame.
cookie?
oh well, this is how the book of blury saturday looks like.
with pink shaded gilly flowers wrapped in my candy bag.
because.
s.b.
because you inspire me wicker, balloons and gentle cold air behind my ears, my neck, my shoulders.
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