It's my birthday.
And those of you who know me always remember I hate the fuss:
- Presents are not my idea of joy on this day-unless it's something of value of course: like a good book a loved one had read and adored, and so, handed it to me with tattered edges and perhaps some notes along the margins.
- The Happy Birthday song is
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better places,
and the best company
you're always on my mind.
and she looked beautiful,
(though not like herself);
they stampeded, invaded, disrobed, and raped her.
but they never broke the girl-
amidst all the chaos and rubble, pieces of her shined through and through.
shake your fist at me, love.
it feels like home :)
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I thought everyone would just e-mail me, but this was a pleasant surprise.
I love my sunshine :-)
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I am feeling insomniatic in Italy right now. I hear buzzing traffic (sometimes whirring), twinkling lights, filtered stars.
I would read if I thought I could focus on the words. Perhaps I will write you a haiku:
when she says nothing
can't you hear the world crackling
dipped slightly closer?
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And I love it! :-)
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