Red lips. Femme fatale. Rainy streets, frozen feet. Urge to sit down now. Beautiful people, beautiful language. The other day I read a book so good, it started to mess with my mind. Hot shower, still cold feet. Fingers barely move, the cold hides within my bones. Urge to write it down too. The world is still, it is Sunday after all. Easter Sunday after all.
I would love to be able to wear red lipstick. The insecurities are taking a firm hold of me. Breathe now, breathe slowly. Don't tell me how to be. Leave those platitudes.