punching the snow
dear Jean Kippelstein,
Wiggin’s witholding tears tonight, but it’s teeming like a sad mother outside. Au revoir les enfants, au revoir les enfants, au revoir les enfants. Thrice, for how hard it was for me to find you. You reminded me of the charming taste of a young orange in snowy spring, gently wanting to warm you in my hand. Speaking of that, as I peeled off the layers in my bed last night, I thought a marvelous thought. and then it left me, then it came back, and then it left me again. has my grasp felt so weak? so here is another thought before it goes: friendships are so mouthwateringly slippery! But my blanket still bears a lovable orangey fragrance.
Don’t worry, I will hide the candles well beneath my pillow and wait.
yours fondly,
LJ Quentin
Wiggin’s witholding tears tonight, but it’s teeming like a sad mother outside. Au revoir les enfants, au revoir les enfants, au revoir les enfants. Thrice, for how hard it was for me to find you. You reminded me of the charming taste of a young orange in snowy spring, gently wanting to warm you in my hand. Speaking of that, as I peeled off the layers in my bed last night, I thought a marvelous thought. and then it left me, then it came back, and then it left me again. has my grasp felt so weak? so here is another thought before it goes: friendships are so mouthwateringly slippery! But my blanket still bears a lovable orangey fragrance.
Don’t worry, I will hide the candles well beneath my pillow and wait.
yours fondly,
LJ Quentin