Wednesday, November 26, 2008


The mornings are of purple skies streaked with crimson. They smell of cinnamon and coffee. And of course, of love. One wants likes to think that being whimsical is what one does best. It is when one is happiest.


Prude said...

:-) :-) :-)

crumbs said...

@ prude

you're back! yay! :)

Anonymous said...

:) nice to know that there is a streak of happiness in your life too.. :D end of depression

Tsu said...

We are getting back to being Cynical are we???? oh right it never left! :)

crumbs said...

@ lash
it's a streak , I'm not sure of happiness, or just good old craziness ;)

@ Tsu
:D never did buddy, never quite did