after not being with you for a few months i decided i could pick up this book and not smell your sheets, plus you moved out of that house so that smells forever gone.
Henry and June has me entangled. I never want to get up out of the sun nor do i ever want to stop reading it. I believe I'm going to get a collection of her works. She's a sexual beast and it makes me so calm inside. Her journals are filled with honesty and lust. Her problems, although much escalated, are those i battle with myself. They are my life written on paper, everything I've wanted to say but have forgotten. Where did my words lose themselves?
Her love is equilateral.
Cigarettes: this stick of beauty and eloquence pours out smoke and brings minutes of joy, but is it worth years of hacking up my precious lungs? God, why does this weather make me want to break my habit of NOT smoking?
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