days and ways
Jul. 31st, 2004 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturthe night's finally cooling, and my stomach's full of chickpea curry, and we're watching pirates of the carribean, while i type this up, and light reads d&d books.
we went to the butterfly museum and yankee candle today. the butterflies were amazing, in that supercorny way that only a profusion of really pretty things can be. Really, if it was anything else, that sort of animallife-per-square-foot would be terribly, terribly creepy.
sweet smelling candles burning on the coffeetable, and the smell of dinner still in the air. the box fan makes a strange noise, a rattling that sounds something like rain failing or boiling and his hand's on my leg.
i talked to Media this evening, arranging to go out to Marshfield to visit him and Mech and my parents, and an uncle and aunt. i'm striving not to think about the leaving, busying my head with the movie, and the panicking, and various flittery thoughts, mostly about sanguine, with a couple other riffs thrown in.
i'm still lucky past my ability to believe, my toes tucked under his legs, and a sort of warmth inside me, drawing me down to sleep, past my intention to email her back, returning her words with words of my own, mirroring intent with new turns of phrase from a similiar heart, but unable to go to my computer until the weather allowed me to venture upstairs (having seized upon Light's computer only moments ago.)
i just finished mckinley's door in the hedge and a collected set of roald dahl's stories. next comes the aforementioned ARC.
i'm pining for people who live too many miles away, one i've never met, and one i've only spent a couple days in the company of, and both of who have parts of me. and maybe it's foolish, but that's certainly not stopping me.
we went to the butterfly museum and yankee candle today. the butterflies were amazing, in that supercorny way that only a profusion of really pretty things can be. Really, if it was anything else, that sort of animallife-per-square-foot would be terribly, terribly creepy.
sweet smelling candles burning on the coffeetable, and the smell of dinner still in the air. the box fan makes a strange noise, a rattling that sounds something like rain failing or boiling and his hand's on my leg.
i talked to Media this evening, arranging to go out to Marshfield to visit him and Mech and my parents, and an uncle and aunt. i'm striving not to think about the leaving, busying my head with the movie, and the panicking, and various flittery thoughts, mostly about sanguine, with a couple other riffs thrown in.
i'm still lucky past my ability to believe, my toes tucked under his legs, and a sort of warmth inside me, drawing me down to sleep, past my intention to email her back, returning her words with words of my own, mirroring intent with new turns of phrase from a similiar heart, but unable to go to my computer until the weather allowed me to venture upstairs (having seized upon Light's computer only moments ago.)
i just finished mckinley's door in the hedge and a collected set of roald dahl's stories. next comes the aforementioned ARC.
i'm pining for people who live too many miles away, one i've never met, and one i've only spent a couple days in the company of, and both of who have parts of me. and maybe it's foolish, but that's certainly not stopping me.
