Violet

I named this one Violet; my diary that is. So, I'm writing again.
Summer has always been dissapointing in England,
and I'm counting down the days until I run away to France.
16. 16. 16.

"She was heaven when I met her, but she was hell when I came asking for more"
Joel Alme is my newest obsession from Sweden, seriously.


I'm really not interesting enough to have a blog.

peekaboo

I haven't written since christmas. After Winter I even gave up writing to Flora, so don't feel offended. My joi de vivre has slowly dissolved into a little pool of sour feelings in the pit of my stomach. Hope and naivity have always seemed like assets to me in a way but spring has crushed my hopes.

January and February were similair: frosty yet comforting. March was bizarre though calling off the months in a list seems so impersonal and official. It's terrifying how quickly the fairest of the seasons has evapourated.

Everytime a new season comes along, I decide that I like it the best but spring has been dissapointing. Summer will bring warm wine and little clothing as is normal practise in the cities until I escape to France and whirl away my time being tutted at by old french biddies & stared at by young french boys on mopeds. Pricks.

new shoes, old news - 2008.

Well my little darlings, percularly enough I have decided to start my blog with the end of a year.

I am happy. Verging on mentally unstable, but happy.
For the first time this year, I've done things not because I should have but because I wanted to.
With countless mistakes, I have found some of the happiest moments. I am finally learning that love can come in forms other than that of fairytale princes. Accepting the fact that I have made things a lot more complicated... I can never be accused of being boring. Slowly, I'm falling in love with the "imperfections" in life.

Merry christmas lovely blog!