Writing is like a little door. Some fantasies, like big pieces of furniture, won't come through.

This is so delightful, I couldn't help posting it :)

Black Venus, Vol. 1. Portraits by Maxim Vakhovskiy 

The Cherry Blossom Girl

She is looking out the window. The wind is kissing her face. It makes a resplendent picture.

I am feeling very warm right now.

Air- Alone in Kyoto

Lay me down. Let the only sound, be the overflow.

I like how sunlight peers into the water and helps you look inside and around. I like how you would go to the bottom, even with your  lungs bursting and look up, the sun blinding you. 'Cause she's a cruel mistress, and a bargain must be made. As you look up longingly, you realise that it makes you love the land more, makes you grateful for what you have. But oh, my love, don't forget me.  I like the ocean. I like how it has a heart big enough to take in all of you just as it gives back whatever it has to offer. It is unselfish. Like Her.  
But would you have it any other way?
Would you have it any other way?
You couldn't have it any other way.

Dreams trapped in purple perfume bottles.

In her rare moments of sanity, she picked out fresh flowers and curled her hair. She cut the chicken, marinated it and put the baby to sleep. Then she dressed prudently and met friends for lunch.


Monday 25 October (first day of wintertime)

Why is life so tragic; so like a strip of pavement over an abyss.I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I'm ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel like this? Now that I say it I don't feel it...Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener? Well, one's vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself...I think too much of whys and wherefores: too much time of myself. I don't like time to flap around me...

-Virginia Woolf, 1920
                                                                                 

Warning Sign

I think of how I could have done it differently. Or how you would have said things you never did, as you sat there in your bullet-proof vest. With all the windows closed.
I lost a friend because he couldn't be my lover. I've never lost a friend before.
It's beautiful in here, you know. It's pure and resplendent. Magnificent. But it's in my mind and that's why no one will ever know it the way I do. 

The flower he tucked behind my ear fell out miles ago. It was a cynical gesture anyway; he knew my girliness was a bit threadbare.