August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

With that strange knowing that comes over me, like a clairvoyance, I know that I am sure of myself and my enormous and alarmingly timeless love for you; which will always be.

Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing, which remark I guess shows I still don't have a pure motive (O it's-such-fun-I-just-can't-stop-who-cares-if-it's-published-or-read) about writing.

I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness