And strum my fingers gently across your skin, like I was playing the slowest love song in the world and only you and I could hear it.
I would whisper every rude word I know in your ear.
You don't get to pull these stitches out. No matter how much I still love you.
It's not your watch I care about. It's the time you keep.
Wait. But don't wait too long. Work hard. But don't forget how to play. Sing loudly. But don't learn all the words. Wonder. But not so much that you lose yourself. Read magazines. But read more books.
Love.
You don't have to be the person you tell people you are. You can just be who you are.
Love who and what you love because you love them. Not because other people do. Or don't.
I thought I'd found my favourite picture of me. Then I realised it was just because you were in it, too.
You'll find the link on the right hand side.
Just tell them how you feel. Is anyone going to die?
No.
But one day, you will.
Would you like to do that before or after you tell them?
Recent Comments
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Deborah said:
Maybe you'll do a book tour with "I wrote the for you" and we can ALL meet you! read more
on The Misconception -
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I said:
lol, surprisingly enough, most of my admirers are either in the States, Japan or India, so I'd have to do... read more
on The Misconception -
Deborah said:
oh so many reasons to leave Africabut the best one (in my opinion) is that you are more likely to... read more
on The Misconception
If that happens, I'll definately be stopping by :) read more
on The Misconception