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17/03/01 The window creaks slightly and the curtains sway. Still rich prose trickles through my veins like permeated alcohol. Ever been drunk on a good book? I see the beautiful simplicity of that novel girl in the tattered wedding dress. After all, long I have lusted after daisy white fabric with red red locks, and long I swoon over Celtic music. But suicide is a strange word to my tongue; it sounds as if whoever invented it didn't have the power to open its mouth... like a hissing snake... sssuuicccidee. I can't close my eyes to these calm spring nights. There's butter candy by the bedside and butterflies on the mirror; the silhouette of something beautiful in my mind. I think of spring as a gentle sigh; the relief lightens your spirit. It is ironic to have exams during this time... while everyone floats in a dream haze, and grades are a gray dot on the horizon, too small to penetrate consciousness. The boys were right, a teenage girl is quite a dreamy creature. It would be nice to be strightforward; we must be so alien to them. |