A cup of tea she would admit to no one.
By wit, to one named Kierkegaard, this life of mine is but a sickness unto death. It's hard not to agree, just by basis of words and words alone; his remedy, however, wouldn't really help aside from whatever high I could derive from the opiate in which he'd suggest. Even then, it would, at the very least, be a personal opiate; to that, I'm sure
( Read more... )
Comments 1
Reply
Leave a comment