Venus is still in retrograde, eh?
My mittens went off on an adventure without me today. I found them on the bus, several hours later, and one was missing a button. My hands were cold all day, but I respect their need for some time alone together.
I can't wrap my head around "love", so perhaps I should stop using that stupid ambiguous pink-heart-candy-in-the-grocery-store-aisle word. I am in a warm, technicolor, big-skied place with a person who breathes deep, laughs loud, and kisses hard. We exist in opium-tripping Parisian Impressionist paintings. We exist in stark unpublished Post-Modern theorist ramblings. We exist in pictures drawn onto foggy windows. We exist in thick, spicy, eyes-watering-finger-food. We exist in the hazy hushed stillness of a closing museum.
I can't wrap my head around "love", so perhaps I should stop using that stupid ambiguous pink-heart-candy-in-the-grocery-store-aisle word. I am in a warm, technicolor, big-skied place with a person who breathes deep, laughs loud, and kisses hard. We exist in opium-tripping Parisian Impressionist paintings. We exist in stark unpublished Post-Modern theorist ramblings. We exist in pictures drawn onto foggy windows. We exist in thick, spicy, eyes-watering-finger-food. We exist in the hazy hushed stillness of a closing museum.