FCUK
Listening to Hot Blooded in underwear. Blonde fade hair drying, tattoo appointment on Monday. Fuck saving things for later. Life is like milk, it will go bad one day, so better drink it now.
That is all
July 2011
For My Star V.
My dear shining, streaming, flashing and sparkling light. You lit up the night like one of those falling stars that take a few seconds to get across the empty sky in August. Ones that you are not sure about. Ones that look dangerous enough to collide with Earth and destroy everyone in a splashing explosion. Ones that always simmer out when you least expect it and secretly hope that they fell somewhere on a shore by the ocean, with only the white foam as witness.
I will always love you. You will always have my heart. I will always secretly hope that you show up at my door at 8 am on a weekend with Tabitha in one hand and bottle of Champagne in other, giggling like you do. I will always be dancing, like you taught me “making the figure 8” with my hips biting my lip and trying hard not to mess up at Bachata steps.
Always,
Your upside-down V.
They Always
Kick you once you are down. But I find mental wallowing in pity similar to masturbation with no fingers. Pointless and tiring.
Having fun in ICU
Whistling up a storm.
“They say the best men are molded out of faults, and, for the most, become much more the better for being a little bad.”
—William Shakespeare (via quote-book)
It all leads to one thing,
To finally getting into the last corners of your desk drawers and pulling out the relics of everything that has been stuffed there, but never fully purged.
I feel scared. Like a lamb, but in a silly sense it just gives me more fire inside to push harder and go farther and farther.
