אני אוהב את כולכם, אז בוא איתי לתוך ההפלאות~ ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~ :thumb254424191:~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~  ~.~ ~.~ |
| Enter if you wish, but if you do please comment and be polite.. ನಾನು ನಿನ್ನ ಪ್ರೀತಿಸುತ್ತೇನೆ, Nat~ |
Summertimeit'sSummertime by ~oracle-of-nonsense
riding down cracked-asphalt roads,
sweet tea beside you in the console
while you sit, knees bent back,
languidly slouched so your toes
can soak up the sun heating the windshield,
making the dashboard almost
burn your tender soles
if not for the cooling wind
knotting your hair
like the fingers of a drunken lover
it’s
the way the intercostal
is still lukewarm at night;
the memories made at one a.m.
staring down hungry herons,
shrieking like children when
something
brushes its slime against your toes,
and drying off in the stern breeze
that curls your hair
so you don’t soak the seats
of the sand-floored van you borrowed
to sho
Tribute to MemoryThe old woman next door played her depressing version of Happy Birthday to You on her piano again, and Lisa couldn’t study.Tribute to Memory by ~Swiss-Dilettante
The music wasn’t loud, but it seeped through into her apartment with its slow pace and low notes and bothered her, even though it was ignorable and she was comfortable in good company.
“There she goes again with the sleepy music.” Mark placed his Calculus book on the coffee table, leant back into the couch, and yawned. “What’s this, the eighth time this year?”
“The first time,” Lisa said. “And how’s it sleepy music?”
“It’s making me d
Euphoric 
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