love is so short, forgetting so long.

Sometimes I hate dreaming. There are dreams that are so perfect that reality becomes a huge black cloud over my head when I wake up in the morning. I've been reading way too much Pablo Neruda. My dream version of him was awfully poetic when he told me that he loved me, had loved me all along.

I'm still celebrating my birthday even though it's a week after the fact. I have two more parties to make it through then my life can go back to normal. This is going to be a long weekend.

Tonight I Write the Saddest Lines - Pablo Neruda