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[valetudinarius]

Am not sick, but still cannot breathe. Fuck. How lovely.

Comments

[valetudinarius]

*laughs* Trust you to make light of it.

[valetudinarius]

That's terrible. It did not work well at all, really.

...I've no idea. Care to tell?

[eagle_of_words]

New kind of illness? Pity. *tres awkward* Good luck with recovery, jolie--anything to be done that I can do?

[valetudinarius]

No, no, when I'm having a panic attack over you there's certainly nothing that you could do. Nothing at all.

[eagle_of_words]

... *deeply wounded* Ah, is that what it is? Pardon, then, I won't interfere.

[valetudinarius]

How lovely, then. Such a tragedy it would be if you disturbed me while I was worrying over exactly how much damage I've lately done. *obviously not good with words*

A poem for you. ...apparently.

[devilsdandy]

"

Passion makes the old medicine new:

Passion lops off the bough of weariness.

Passion is the elixir that renews:

how can there be weariness

when passion is present?

Oh, don't sigh heavily from fatigue:

seek passion, seek passion, seek passion!
"

....don't blame me. I swear, my typist made me do it. *glowers*

[valetudinarius]

Oh, 's lovely, Etienne.

Though I thought you absolutely hated poetry in any way, shape or form...?

[devilsdandy]

...I do.

Swear I do.

*mutters* 's a terrible thing, when one's bloody-minded typist sends love poems on one's behalf.

*ignores fact of who actually did the reading, choosing, and deciding to send*

[valetudinarius]

Ah. *smiles* You rather have quite a way with picking words, then, for someone else who does not naturally appreciate them.