i broke the candlesticks. the one's i knew you'd hate.
this last move.
they were on top of my bookshelf.
i was moving a picture frame and they fell.
and they shattered.
i didn't imagine they could make themselves so small. even in breaking, i couldn't fathom that there would be so many pieces. so tiny.
i was fine. unscathed. strangely enough the glass seemed to avoid me all together.
i should be thankful for that.
i know. i know that.
but the thing is, all i can think,
it's one less fight. one less fight we'll have.
a silly little fight about differing tastes.
one less memory.
one less moment for me to fall madly and deeply and desperately in love with you.
the girl two-candle sticks short tonight
i've been thinking a lot about deal-breakers lately.
i mean what is a deal-breaker?
what is that thing that will make you say to someone else, that's it, my love for you will never overcome this. because isn't love supposed to trump everything?
does love change the rules? and therefore change our set of deal-breakers?
so, do deal-breakers even really exist?
and then i sat next to a man on the train yesterday, and had my clearest thought in weeks: axe as deodorant? deal-breaker.
the woman who is so glad you smell just the way you do. and would've kept walking had you been wearing said deodorant. don't believe me? just try.
i culled many wonderful and impressive gobs of knowledge from my time in australia.
chief among them is this:
a man looks far, far, far better when his suit is cut in the italian fashion.
why do american men wear their suits baggy and ill-fitting? they look like little boys playing dress up.
a well fitted suit-pant can make an okay-looking-man into a good-looking-man. a good-looking-man into a great-looking-man. and so on.
i can't even begin to imagine how you will look.
but because i am forced to wait for that fateful day when our eyes do meet, you cannot blame me for the torrid love affair i might just have with this man:
because he looks damn good in that suit. and because i would look damn good on the back of his vespa.
image via the only place
it could be from:
if we ever choose to paint our house or apartment or closet for that matter,
promise we'll hire professionals?