For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.
When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Your scent all over my shirt.
You've changed my idea of pancakes. From now on, I'll eat them whenever I miss you.
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