Sometimes I hear a false echo, like an insincere agreement. Maybe, I’m just being morally lazy. It seems easier at the time. And the compromise appears negligible. Maybe, I’m fooling myself. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time. And it always seems to have worked before.
She’s smoking and I say, I don’t mind. And not that I really do. But I find that my intolerance for second-hand smoke is in inverse proportion to the attractiveness of the woman on fire. You may feel that I’m calculating. I think I’m merely weighing the possibilities between an emotional spark and emphysema.
And, really, isn’t the best kind of love just like cancer? Growing without limits, overtaking the body, an all-consuming passion that leaves you gasping?
spiral scratch
divinities du styx .. . { maria callas, the voice of the century }
such a twat .. . { the streets, a grand don’t come for free }
funny little frog .. . { belle and sebastian, the life pursuit }
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