melt the hair and let the wind gently moving them there, you will only hear the quiet rustle that can turn into hurricane drunk. In this sound I can hear only the letter "F" alphabetically speaking one of the finest and is the letter that belongs to my muse, the goddess to whom I dedicate songs every night and travel of the mind. Talking with her is like the strongest orgasm you can get because he always manages to bring out the best from all and all still in my mind. As you drill and a drill to open and remain well for long.
This summer we talked, Skins, thinness, fashion and those fucking drugs that surround us at night, and while I was leaving she left for London in search of herself, you see and hear that still, growing under the light of religion, that of God and the one imposed by Vogue Paris.
In March, the thing that we shared more often were the tears and cuts. I took off a bit 'to the extent of my mood to give to her and vice versa, but they have always been sure, she gave me more than it has received. F. is always the case.
always thought some day calendar than we have had in common. Those lying in my garden along with Doherty. In the evening I had prepared sheets for her lilac and lavender flowers, so that she could feel the queen of the meadow and I imagined her servant, so that our bodies could embrace in a time of ecstasy and calm.
we think of those six glasses of wine and the stolen goods in supermarkets, and necklaces in stores, and in the miu miu her feet. In the depths of winter we will be wearing fur blankets canary and crow, stroking cats orphans found in the street, smoking cigarettes sky filled with misery as it is all that the world can give us. And despite the knowledge we continue to cling to a rope to anything solid, a rope that could have a secondary use (or perhaps primary) but our lives are already hanging in the balance, we are on to a thread of an old shirt Prada. But do not look down.
Cigarettes made of auroras, stars, sunsets and lights to make her graceful body even more beautiful under the shadow of smoke.
Together with smoke I've always wanted to make it my own, to impress on white paper and hold the shadow of my fingertips, and someday it will.
I LOVE YOU ANNA, I write things like that and how should I feel? I am what I want, the Venus of your garden, the goddesses stretched out like lizards, if you love me I am what I want, if you kill me with you I reflected Lodero 'lay your hands on the glass. While not creating illusions you are one of the few people who truly deserves to be called my friend, my sweet flower of the field.
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