Mishka’s over tonight. She’s talking about her boy, Allan. I took her to fetish night a month or two ago and now she’s caught up in him. Seems to be some communication issues though. Her candor is more than hilarious. “He’s not what I expected” “why? what were you expecting? You did find him at fetish night” “I expected him to be an asshole” Now she’s in the other room borrowing my toothbrush.
You’ve been haunting me tonight. The spectre of your thought won’t let me alone. I was accidently off-line for a few hours and now I feel I must have missed you, though there’s no letter. No voice anointed words sweetly waiting to sink into my eyes. Calm, of course, conquers, but I’m feeling a little less gorgeous. *grinning* I know when I meet you, you’re going to be a little bit more than I think you to be because I’m seeming to not even ponder upon it. I catch myself in the mirror and there’s just a moment where you’re there. Tableau as stylized formulated as an old oil triptych. And now with sound, though hollow over distance.