Monday, December 12, 2011

Spent my latest days listening to La vie en Rose, and drinking tea on the porch, waiting for the snow to come. December never felt so wrong, and I hear you've never been prettier. I've been sitting in this library, thousands of miles from my life, writing another letter I know I won't send no matter how hard I try. Everyday, I'm feeling less. I'm hoping less. I'm missing you, you, and you. But for now, it's just me and the dog. Chérie, viens chez moi.


  1. Missing is so hard and exhausting. If you want to talk, you have my e-mail.

  2. Spending your days drinking tea on porches and listening to good music sounds relaxing but the hoping, wishing, missing and yearning does not.
    I really do hope you're ok.
    Love Anafly

  3. is there anything sadder or more lovely than an unsent letter? gorgeous words. gorgeous. xx

  4. I wish I could bundle all the courage and hope and strength I had left, and wrap it tightly in a little silky scarf, and send it to you, love.
    You're beautiful, and so so very lovely.
    You need to be happy; you deserve it.