The old notes
You imagine you might die from it.
Living perilously, you cut lemons carelessly and cross roads, head in handbag,
searching for mittens.
Then, dancing at the edge of the sea
you think of all the things you might have that you didn't before,
kisses, smiles and such.
You decide to live,
buy new wellies,
feed the birds.
Wednesday, July 24
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1 comment:
your words are always dear.
p.s. i'm hiding here. http://oldpyjamas.tumblr.com
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