Bows And A Blanket Of Weeds

i tilt my head, eyes wide and watering.

It is January again. The last bit of December was especially bleak, and a new year finds me lorn and all alone sitting on the steps of the science buildings as the sun sets, a package of cigarettes beside my black mittens. Many abstractions have left me for the coming of this year, and i have abandoned many of the fancies i had carved with care into wooden tables. Time will take it all and my head will fall between my knees.

Right now, i want kind pleasures like staying up late to the night by myself and daydreaming or reading thick Russian novels. i want to starve myself until all i can do is love so calmly and deliberately, to all those i know and have to meet.

Another one, yes?