As it turns out , I'm a beggar for it, I will exchange for it.
All this time you were serious. Now it's obvious.
It grows, like groves, and it's falling from your hand
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Morning: cold, bright.
She woke up, quickly put on her old, faded jeans and bunged on her thick, warm, autumn sweater. She rushed downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed her warm coffee with her regular two tea-spoons of sugar. Shoe laces tied and woolly hat on, camera and bag hanging round her shoulder, she ran outside. The sun kissed her skin lightly as she walked into the garden.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Alors tu vois, comme tout se mêle
Et du coeur a tes lèvres, je deviens un casse-tête