parait qu'le bonheur est a porté de main
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, pjvilar!!!
Jen, you're gorgeous and funny and patient and insightful and wicked talented. And you're an inspiration. You've taught me a lot about what it means to own yourself, including those parts you're maybe not so fond of.
So bring on another year older, another year wiser and wear it with the grace and good sense and je ne sais quoi you have in spades.
And because I'm a GIANT FAILBOAT who really is incapable of meeting self-imposed deadlines, your present isn't finished. I'm breaking my own rules here and giving you a teaser snippet that I think you read over drinks?.
"It's not, strictly speaking, legal."
She knows the ending already.
-
You should know: Ariadne has always been going places.
She touches the red scarf wrapped around her neck haphazardly, a talisman of personality, a ready-made identity more of a projection than reality.
You should also know: She is okay with this.
-
"I want to tell you a riddle, Ariadne." Her mother's hands fold over a pocketwatch. "Are you ready?"
Ariadne nods.
"I can break buildings, make things rust, destroy earth. But yet, you cannot touch or see or hear or smell or taste me. What am I?"
-
The first time Ariadne sees the Mona Lisa in person, she tilts her head to the left, squints, and says, "I thought you'd be more," to the absurdly pink room at large.
It's her second week in the city.
-
Enjoy your day, bb! I'll wait until tomorrow to crack the whip on your writing. :D
source for bottom image (I don't remember where the top came from. Woe.)