she dreamed the same dream night after night~We are an orchestra of one, we are a majesty unveiling, we are newly born lovers, christening one another with mouths and hands and seeking tongues. We are everything and nothing~ Night is falling. night is falling. and I am drowning. in your arms. I am safe again. I am safe again. You surface me, and cling to me, night is falling and I am in my place again. above you, beneath you, wherever it pleases you so... oh my love, I am home again. My heart has been reborn again. the night is falling. and so am I . Falling for you ( into you, above you, through you). night is falling. night is falling. and so am i. so am i. always for you. for you.

blustarswendy3

~random vintage wendchymes~

prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08

2001-11-14 - 7:08 a.m.

did I ever tell you about the time.. when I was in Kilarney, Ireland and I was sitting in a pub drinking a few too many pints I guess, because I was writing out postcards en masse trying to make it look like each one was a spectacularly unique soliliquy of my thoughts for the lucky bastards on my mailing list, and apparently not only did I mix up the messages ( i.e. writing "vito's" address on the card intended for "vinnie" and vice versa ) but on the stumble back to my posh hotel, in horrifyingly broad daylight, well, the postcards were quietly cascading out of my open purse,like hansel and gretel's trail of crumbs.

I never realized I was missing them. I forgot all about them.

Until, a few weeks later, when "vito" told me about a strange card he recived from me, apparently, in the upper top hand corner, there was a little scrawled note which read " found in the streets of kilarney and posted by a frenchmen "

Who is this frenchmen ? Can you believe that ? Some noble un petit frenchman heroically and valiantly saving the postcards of a drunken maiden. awww how sweet!!!!!! I can almost hear him ....

" sacre bleu, zat fille iz zo stupide!!! Vite Vite, je must save 'er postecards! "

I always wondered about that frenchmen, wondered if he would show up one day at my door and present himself and bow deeply and say something, like " at your service madameoiselle" but mostly the french scare me. And as a rule, they are generally le butt of many of my exagerated tales.

Anyway, I guess the french make great Le jokebutts, don't you think ?

( insert apologies to all Frenchmen living and dead who are offended here ) uh sorry

Maybe I hate them so much, because of the time, I caught on fire in a Whiskey Bar in Montreal and they all stared at me, with there big French Canadian Celine Dion eyes, quietly judging me like it was MY FAULT THAT I was so weird as to catch on fire and possible' ruin their soirees and oh so chic menage a trois's. ooo laaa laa

WHATEVER!

oh and just in case you were wondering- I was ok, but my mohair scarf unfortunately did not survive. May he rest in peace, farethewell sweet sweet scarf

old starlight - new starbright

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