Sunday, June 28, 2009

Sunday Breakfast

These are the things that keep me going, a sunday breakfast on my swan-white floor, his voice on the telephone, the memory of his scent. Our bougainvilleas in the petite terrace, flower-patterned china cups, jasmine tea, coral lipgloss on marshmallows, a darling teapot that was given to me as a birthday gift, L'Air du Temps perfume for sunday mornings, writing about love, heartache and devotion in those white pages until my hand becomes numb, that music box that plays Parlez-Moi D'Amour, a chinese heartshaped mirror, my dreams and hopes for days where love is soft and peaceful and not this constant tangle of petals, roots and thorns

This is my favorite song right now,
I can listen to it until it becomes slurred and confusing,
but still, it's such a beautiful song

it's originally in Spanish but the lyrics go

Poppy, Pretty Poppy
Will always be your soul your own?
I want you, dear child of mine
just like the flower loves daylight

Poppy, Pretty Poppy
Don't be so ungrateful, look at me!
Poppy, Poppy
How can you live so alone?

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