13 December 2003

7

7 months, my love.
miss you as before.

angry and in pain. but started to paint. and photograph. you would like. you would chuckle, and dismiss silly girls with one impeccable move of a wrist and a side glance, and get into my pants, like panther returns into her liar, familiar home, but ever cautious.

one of the most ultimate pleasures was to make you laugh. like this:


you would kill me for this photo, but it's love at its best.

love,
your lark