Mantra: Next weekend I get to see my kindred, next weekend I get to see my kindred. On another note, something that dribbled out of my head while working. Dribbling, because of the grey matter drooling out of my ears, down my neck and onto my nice new work pants.
I think you're beautiful
In all the ways that beauty is true.
In all the ways that light hits your eyes
And I can see forever.
Beauty in the furrows of your hair
As your fingers push it back from
your face, as your breath catches after running.
In the wrinkles of your forehead as you amuse yourself
with life and all of its confusing and beautiful disasters.