The Future. Always.

Walking on a dream.

Walrus, I knew who you were

Mortals can conceal no secrets.

Our lips may stay silent, or they can become so abruptly,

but in the end,

I've seen some chattering with their fingertips, betrayal in its most sublime patterns.

Battleground of a jungle

Good is better than perfect,

and my footsteps never meet.

Ours once did.

Hours flew by since then, refresh, months. Bygones. 

Goodbyes never work, but hey, I already told you that. 

(Never say never. I heard it.)

Blood drops like rubies, diamonds seem teardrops,

на свою бродяную жизнь в дождях, нееее, в снеге сейчас.

Show me your thousand faces, two by two for a change.

I love декабр, December, december, decembrie, grudzień, décembre... I'll stop.

Rushdie Afternoon

It's all there to use, in old wives' tales, in tall stories,  and most of all...

in the cliché. 

My Sea of Stories

I blame fiction for the troubles we bring on ourselves

Curieuse

Hello December...

How's my month going to be?