Not after today, when I smiled with all my might at the mushrooms of the market, on sale for 99 cents. I saw them here and I saw them there: in the wobbly pan of a small, freezing kitchen. Sizzling away, flavors of smoke and pepper. Somewhere safe. Somewhere in England. Somewhere I could call Home.
I want to wrap myself in a thick plaid and look at the stars up in the moors. I want to smell of pumpkin pie and fill myself with white moka. I want to be among friends, who I feel this connection with: like a thick red thread going from their hearts to mine.
I want to fall asleep, numbed by the lullaby of the day that passed. Rain against the window.
Listen to bands I would never think of liking. Picking up books and not reading them. Giving up old habits.
Making up phrases that don't make sense, just like I am right now. Here and now, I mostly try to move on.
But it hurts.
I hurt.
Il n'est pas très grand (5cm de plus que moi), les cheveux châtains, une barbe de 3 jours, les yeux bleus très profonds et un super sourire.. Mentalement je ne saurai trop le décrire puisque j'ai énormément parler pendant que lui m'écoutait, ce qui était assez frustrant.. Il est en fac de cinéma pour devenir réalisateur :)
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