good morning, love.

the sun falls in

scattered fragments

through the window

and across your cheek;

your eyes roam

beneath closed lids,

your breath gentle and easy

plays with the few

strands of hair

not tucked behind your ear

and your lips twitch

in dream speak;

I will lay soft and still

a day or forever

until

you flutter awake

and I can whisper

good morning, love.

(day twenty-two)

I have never not been single this time of year. I don’t think I would know what to do with myself if I didn’t adhere to tradition, eh.

*with the use of ‘eh’ I’d like to include a shout-out to all of my Canadian friends, many of which are just getting to bed- thank you video games; I don’t know if you celebrate whimsical holidays or not, but in the spirit of this fine one, Happy Valentine’s Day, to you especially.*

I figure if I spend the day cursing the cat, I probably won’t even notice my exclusion in the celebration. 

Besides, everyday should be a party. That’s wisdom straight from Gogol. (Bordello that is.)

Also, in case you managed to escape my frenetic tweeting: Justin Bieber’s Never Say Never is must see.   

Okay, moving quickly on.

It’s not quite nine in the morning, and I’ve been up for an hour and a half.

Now, I’m not complaining, but anyone that knows me is probably going, “What the…?”

Me too. Me too.

Here’s to tradition, new paths, and ever-living dreams.

-Viens avec moi.