Today I wrote a love poem dedicated to Audrey Hepburn, because her perfection extends farther than the silly thrills of premature affection. I think I will love Holly Golightly more thoroughly than any other living person. But, charm is irrelevant, since the boy I'd meant to talk to hardly said a word.
Je pense: il fait beau, mon amour, il fait beau dans la vie.
No comments:
Post a Comment