For women in their mid-twenties, single, late Sunday afternoon

The morning started…wished it was over…surely my hormones (or the blood) are to be blamed for my terrible downward mood…yesterday was already that bad…frustrated…probably the first time that I felt like throwing a book to the wall…maybe it would turn into a poet then (you know, the frog-prince-thingy)
On top of all the desperation (mine)…with literature, Greek poets (who can be more than lucky for being dead) and emotional loneliness, I saw all kinda girls coming out of the neighbour rooms this morning and
now watching Bridget Jones’s Diary right now…on a rainy gray gray Sunday (every woman will know what this actually feels like! – so let’s have some garlic bread for late lunch then)
I dreamed of Lucky again last night…of the time when he was still strong enough to still mentally communicate with me. Almost broke into tears this morning when I passed the red-yellow flowers in front of library…they somehow spoke to me with his voice.
Like walking on water…and only the thin surface carries your weakened body.

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