2001-02-20 || 12.53a

Almost through, almost there.

Winter, you bitch-- you can't have me this year, either. I'm no longer the teen-ager with the fumbled suicide and the spine bent and broken by frost and depression. I'm older now. I'm getting used to you, you see. I know your face nowadays.

Every time we go through this, you get a bit more of me, but I'm learning to spit in your eye. Maybe next year, I'll do it. Maybe the year after. Who knows?

But you can't have me. You can't.

||Gods save the Queen,
||cf

back || forth

older shite

One last little note... - 09.21.2006

de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006

Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006

More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006

Scary stuff - 05.25.2006

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