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| Sunday, June 26, 2005 |
| Bonne nuit, mon amour, ma fleur de petite. |
| posted @ 02:35:00 MDT by bryn |
| Vous êtes beau. Beau comme le soleil, les étoiles, la lune, et éternel et vrai tout d'autre. Je ne sais aucun autre. Pas autre que l'espoir. (From the "Tish... You spoke French..." department - only, hopefully, less creepy.) |
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| Sunday, June 12, 2005 |
| Among Other Things |
| posted @ 02:34:00 MDT by bryn |
| There are the days the myriad things just keep coming down - like pounding raindrops on the pathway of the shiny grey street, reflecting the same, but slightly bluer sky. Evening comes, evening all colors to those dulled flat tones and the quiet threatens on night's writhing horizon - heavy in the air such as rolling storm. Shapes of the day dying with the light. The streets clear and the heavy sleep of rain sets in, slow but with saturating, blanketing persistence. The promise of the day wanes in the darkening of lie. But there's one simple truth... One warm hope that curls up and coils around your very core. A soul. One alone for one alone. The most beautiful girl in the world. |
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