ten february
three : twenty-two p.m.

i burnt my finger. aloe smells bad.

she's been down here more and more, and it's really great that she is the way she is, because she's wonderful. we're going to make movies.

he's so much more than he knows he is. "i wish you could see you the way i see you."

our conversations are either superb or mundane, and the whole time, the wooden turtle sits on my desk and just bobs it's head.

music : "miss misery" by elliott smith
literature : poems for the millennium
fixation : burn