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Il aurait voulu être cet homme.
I'm just terribly depressed after reading that. Just terribly terribly depressed ( Read more... ) -
I think, my first legit poem on Paris.
Secret bubbles ( Read more... ) -
Spotless.
Such a strange and mysterieuse holiday. Woah. Look at how I spelled mysterious.
Wikipedia says:
Saint Valentine's Day (commonly shortened to Valentine's Day) is an annual holiday held on February 14 celebrating love and affection between intimate companions. The holiday is named after one or more early Christian martyrs named Valentine and was ( Read more... ) -
La nuit.
Il m'inquiète
les souvenirs de ses mains sur ma peau
il me débarrasse
les pensées de sa touche décalquant mon corps
il me manque
le mélange d'odeurs du déodorant, de l'humidité
de la vanille, de la sueur
d'un familiarité de chaleur. -
This is Paris.
No one touches the wine without a real cork. The bottles without a vintage are opened but not drunk. And the "good" wines are empty and refilled with water.
We dance in the living room. We ash on the floor.
Welcome to the house parties of France. -
It snows.
I decided around 2 AM that I was going to just stay up. I didn't want to succumb to my unconsciousness just yet. It's been having its way with me and I don't like it. So I watched "Dans Paris" and some random sad music videos ( Read more... ) -
Je reviens.
Back back back.
Back for another semester and ready to start a brand new year with what else but a brand new list of goals.
1. Be fluent in french. For realz.
2. Make friends with the french, mainly sucking it up and knowing I'll look stupid and be okay with that.
3. Cooking, cooking and cooking.
4. Reading, reading and reading.
5. Writing and ( Read more... ) -
I wrote a poem in my dream.
Dew night glow
That's the only 3 words I remember...
I'm in New York.
I'm excited
happy
at home
a little scared
a little overwhelmed
but mostly happy
and nervous...
It's a temporary bubble of reality before I go back to dreamland in Paris. -
Dreamer.
He never deserves you
no one deserves you
you wipe the dirt from your eyes
the flour caked under your nails.
The bed is yellow and lonely
you sleep on the edge of the mattress
so the sheets stay silent
and the stars face you and
not your spine.
