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About Indie, love triangles, and destruction
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Of fabulous inventions
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The Girl
Is trying to figure out who she is one day at a time.
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EXit if you hate it.
Dance to the tune
...written on 2009-03-26, @ 10:00 p.m.
Dissipate the mists with trembling musical fingers. Strum the fog like a harp. Let soft latin trail tongues across the sky in the perfect gold of morning. Shiver like a deer, delicate and scared, in the cool winter. Prance like dancing fire through the fields.