the politics of whirlwind romance

[_swastika]

And, quietly, so very quietly, our people sleep on the roads, not like beggars, but like gods filled with too much champagne to fly home. They are like beggars, though, in a way, with silver coins split and shiny in their palms, currency for dinner, dresses, white spots where their hair used to be; and all this time, too persistant to flag my eyes

Comments

[_concrete]

This has got to be one of my favorite things of yours I've read <3

[_swastika]

*heart explodes*

Winking the wrong way

[frey]

You write like a Kundera, that dreamy 2nd layer of commentary that glosses magic over the mundane... really brilliant