The calendar ink is not yet dry and the days have begun to blur.

An invitation [to be pretty]

“You would be so pretty if you just…” Dear Sir, Growing up my mother never told me I was pretty. I don’t say that to mean she referred to me as beautiful, or lovely, even, but that she rarely referred to my looks except to offer some mild criticism. That suited me well, as I…


Look only at me. Need only me And in return, I will carve Your name into my bones. I am yet to discover if this is love or Madness.