Oh, Malandrino.

I gave my mom a flower bouquet for mother's day.
I'm broke.
So i made it instead.



She liked them all the same.

"The man replied,
"You are right in saying that God is one
and there is no other but him.
To love him with all your heart,
with all your understanding
and with all your strength,
and to love your neighbor as yourself
is more important than
all burnt offerings and sacrifices."
Mark 12: 32-33

"I am the Lord's servant,"
Mary answered.
"May it be to me as you have said."
Then the angel left her."
Luke 1:38

Pat, i miss you so much.

Writing, i miss you.



I used to write. A lot.
And i haven't so much anymore. I wrote again tonight.
But not for the likes of you.

I found my prose journal. And i would like to share some stuff
from years past:

(via 07)

My eyes are dropping.
My thoughts still pour out through the voices and violins to you, take them.
Add to them, and make them ours.
And in a few, we will tell them to each other.
We do not know when that will be.
But for me it will be soon.
Soon to you lovely.
Soon to you.
The one i dream about. Not only the one in my dreams.
You are appearing more and more.
Because you are going away, more and more.
And so i am creating you.
I am falling in love with you.
More and more.
Not the real you.
However.

(via 05)

I'm going to wander
up in a tree
And sit with
someone i want.
And stare off
through the string lights,
into the distant stars.
The Folk will bring us
poems on platters
and goblets full of music.
We indulge until our lids
become too heavy;
our conscience partially,
then, completely lost.
And we meet again in our reveries.