Jenny’s house of fun.

It's the ballance between water, stone and air. ... I would like to imagine the sound.
 

White Night

I haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength
To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,

That life is a cursed hell:
I've got drunk
On your voice in the doorway.
I was sure you'd come back.

- Anna Akhmatova, February 1911
 
Someone asked me what I smell like.
Well, under the smell of a 2.5 year old, weed and sex, this is what I use.
 

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