I find myself resigned to someone’s care. It’s not an easy kind of control to relinquish, but lately I trust as little as possible in the future and do my best to go along for the ride. As the old poem goes; be wise, strain the wine, or as Zorba would put it, “DON’T BE DELICATE”. I didn’t plan on living forever anyway.
On a cold night, we keep the only promise made, one of those small wonders that still make me believe. I fit somewhere between needs and wants, temporary relief and long-term side effects, class and homework, nibbled lips and bitten tongues.




I got made fun of in high-school for having magnetic poetry in my locker.

shit.

The only thing I regret is not buying this.



I miss this so much.

The Tavern is Abingdon’s oldest building, with a moss-top roof.

Pot roast, slow cooked in wine and stock for six hours, and served with a roasted potato medley, tossed with fresh seasonal greens, mushrooms, and goat cheese. Lovely jubbly.
At The Harvest Table.
Beautiful journey, and girl. Strange cat. I am always transported by your open spaces in the places you visit.…
Oh NO yr shoes!.
I would’ve bought those goldfish for sure.
Can I have the graveyard pic?
Last shot: This face was more what I envisioned for you. Don’t ask me why I don’t know. Character!.
These pictures actually make me miss Ottawa a bit! She looks like such a nice girl!