When it happens, because it most certainly will, over and over again, put on some lipstick, keep your broken pieces together, and never look back.
Liz Taylor had it right. Put on some lipstick, pour yourself a drink, and pull yourself together.
A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.
1 comment:
I love your writing.
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