A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a lovesickness. It is...– Robert Frost (via danseurs) Love
I like shopping; sue me.
I got quite the haul today. I love pretty clothes. It’s a bad superficial high; shopping that is. But sometimes I need that in-my-face pleasure high to keep those bad in-only-your-mind worries away.
Eyes red and salty Naive to fool myself now I understand now