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February 14, 2010

sleeping in, brunches, pots of tea, crosswords, walks, fresh flowers

sundays are meant for matching love

sundays are meant for the ones you hold dearest…

some sundays will break your heart.


I lie on his shoulder and try to read the book he’s reading, Rilke poems.


Everything is far
and long gone by.
I think that the star glittering above me
has been dead for a million years.
I think there were tears
in the car I heard pass
and something terrible was said.

That’s not the end of the poem, but you were reading more quickly than me and turned the page.

reading list – Miranda July


bedroom heaven.

the smell.  it’s going to eat me alive.







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