that sigur ros song that gave me so much overwhelming uplifting feeling last year also gives me hope for the future.
Its easy to be happy, with you or without you. I hear too many songs that make me feel kind of craazy because people are putting words in my mouth and lifting them into my ears.

Oh simple girl
Oh foolish man
Trying to bend these lovers rules
Into a simple plan

Oh aching bones on sleepless bed
They toss and turn and roll away
From words unsaid

It's just that all that you were
Was all I could want
Now I can't trust your lover's tongue
Except to tease and taunt

It's been said best by you
Been said best before
But I just want to let you know
I don't love you anymore

Sad wakes alone
Cradling the phone
Knows that sullen silence
Is the meanest way to moan
But all that you were
Was all that I had
And we could not find a simple way
To work that simple plan

Oh aching bones
Oh sleepless bed
Toss, turn and roll
Away from words unsaid
It's been said best by you
Been said best before

But I just want to let you know I don't
Love you anymore

I just want to let you know
I don't love you anymore

I dont have the patience for online shopping, because one of my senses is hardly being indulged, plus my visa doesnt get any swipe marks.
I've just been reading deeply and madly and passionatly. I'm reading a rather tasty Vampire novel that I've been changing up with porn reviews, and then HARRY POTTER, which I read in 4 hours. I cried. a lot. But I feel completly fulfilled and satisfied, but I wont ruin it for anyone.
I decided that next summer I will move to Vienna to take some german classes at a university there. what could be better than Vienna? Its so close to France!!
This week overall was quite satisfying. Every week gets better. My substance abuse needs to step up, I tend to forget because of it, and thats pure and sheer joy.

She misses him the most during hurricane season, remembering when their toes would meet under blankets and their lips met above the thundering skies, because those were the first and best memories they had, in that tumultuous weather, stopping and pausing to breath and blink.
Then there was every bruise she received that reminded her of all the hickeys, and even every hickey now made her laugh. She grew out of him all of a sudden; she was always there but never really there, always plotting her next departure on Air France. However this is a story, and not a love song- love songs are reserved for things that are yet to come to pass or places that will always exist.
There have been a few eclipses since, mostly when she was listening to cheesy love songs, and finally understood them.
“I still love you and how I could not when we broke up it wasn't bad”
- Well in a manner of speaking- They had to stop speaking in order to reclaim their independence and to learn to dance separately. For so long their arms had reached for the same sweat filled rooms and their hips had grinded together till both their eyes darkened with pleasure and their pulses could be felt through their lips.
She would see his eyes watching her though, and she would avidly seek them out when she was dancing in someone else's arms and it hurt that he didn’t get up to fight for what he claimed to love.
“You quit, just like you quit everything hard in your life”
Last summer, she fell in love and left for France immediately after. She wanted to quit while she was still ahead and on top in the North Pole called Canada but when they were laying together
“You told me that you’d wait forever”
She felt like the Bryan Adams song, summer of ‘69 that he would wait forever, till she was done pausing and could finally stop, like a record. She knew eventually she would be replaced by a CD that stops when you will it to, no matter where you are. Records were slower to stop and pause, and you lose your place and have to start over again.
Tonight it is hurricane season and she is alone and who knows where on earth his toes are treading, but there are no tracks inside her soft Mondrian inspired sheets.
Her toes were dug pretty deep in the rocky sand of Nice and plastered into the cement in Paris. When she broke out cigarettes, she would expect someone to light it, like last summer when she met Julien, oh Julien.
“ Why are you going back to Canada?” he asked all night, placing Marlboro lights carefully between her lips, putting his free hand beside her thigh as he would light it up the cigarette for her. Between sips of beer she explained that indie music was not Indian music and she was not really that interested in the Jungle Book soundtrack. They laughed they sang and touched skin shyly, the moisture of their bodies in the cannicule (summer heat wave) leaving traces on each other.
She had never dared and though the sweat on their upper lips (in the creases underneath their nose) had mingled by the end of the night with the parting kiss, she didn’t go to Montparnasse to continue the party and sleep at his apartment. The love affair was over and she drank the whiskey that bore her long distance lovers name quietly and was dragged home later by her Columbian amigo to a hot bed and a bad hangover the next morning, mostly from how hard her heart was pounding.

I could buzz away at any moment, next summer I'll go to BARTHELONA ( pronouncing it like they do) and adapt and blend in. I've been blending in with the bathtub lately, turning an unlikely shade of grey, and my eyeliner has swept into its old Margot Tenenbaum apperance.. so has my hair faded to more golden shades. I've lost all of France again, I feel mildly defeated.

I miss you the most during hurricane season, when our toes would meet under blankets and our lips met above the thundering skies, because those were the first and best memories we had in this tumultuous weather, stopping and pausing.
Then theres every bruise I receieve that reminds me of hickeys, and even every hickey now makes me laugh. I've grown out of you all of a sudden, I guess I always had because I was constantly going and coming and you never knew where i would be next week.but this is a story, and not a love songs- my love songs are reserved for things that are yet to come to pass or places that will always exist.
Theres been a few eclipses since, mostly when I'm listening to cheesy love songs, and I finally understand. I still love you and how could I not when we broke up it wasn't bad- well in a manner of speaking, but we had to stop speaking in order to reclaim our independance and to learn to dance seperatly.
I would see your eyes watching me though, and I would seek them out when I was dancing in someone else's arms and it hurt that you didnt get up to fight for what you loved. You quit, just like you quit everything hard in your life.
Last summer, I fell in love and left for france immidietly after. I quit while I was ahead but we layed together and you said that you would wait. I felt like the bryan adams song, summer of '69, that you would wait forever.
tonight its hurricane season and I am alone and who knows where on earth your toes are treading, but no track inside my soft mondrian painting inspired sheets.

fights with everyone
Im over everything, or so I say outloud to convince myself of my own coniving tricks
I miss everything about france, I miss meeting new people, I miss cigarettes, and breathing in ocean air, trains, panninis, the water, the air, the people