She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
(Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, 2.4.115-120)
... that One God
... that person whom I've known for over a year but noticed only now
... that band that I hail and the one that makes me go dub-dub-dub
... that Canon EOS K2 Rebel
... those friends from back in the days
... those bitters
... those dreams
... those chinitotoys turned pinototoys
... those puppies owned by other people
... those pictures I've taken
Anna Marie
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ice angel
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...EXIBITIONS
Converse
...Lost in beauty
Then again...
