I love the smell of cigarette smoke wafting up to my room from the house below, music in my head and the night a-glimmer outside, and me here writing (on dial up, if I may say)
sidling your fingers across the keyboard, riot of thoughts racing through head.
At peace with self if not with the world.
the happiness of having expressed a thought perfectly in words. The exquisiteness of perfect crafting, ah.
my baby,Themoon, this..
3 comments:
Oh the wretched dial up......
qu'il s'inquiete!
@guitargeorge
shey ar bolte
@olidhar
excusez moi?
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