the winter is love because: the windows in the bus steam up and you can draw hearts and write names

the winter is love because: it's winter by the time you pass that place where you kissed him for the first time and it doesn't feel sad anymore

"alice, i am sad and grumpy. lets go and get drunk and shout at people and kidnap a tourist. or go and chill somewhere and have a cuddle"

i guess, i should really learn where to put my love. or whom to give it to

some boys were born to make you cry

how many people would never fall in love, if they hadn’t heard the word

500 days of augusto are finally over. i can breathe!

our files are confidential mr. barish so we can't show you any evidence. suffice it to say, miss kruczynski was not happy and she wanted to move on. we provide that possibility

coleridge

what if you slept? and what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? and what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? and what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? ah, what then?

this summer i:

_camped at the beach
_kissed and cuddled someone i adore at the top of a cliff
_watched falling stars
_had a dive into the sea in the middle of the night
_kissed and cuddled an irishman without knowing his name
_made plans for next summer
_learnt how to make delicious caipirinhas
_met the most beautiful girl who made me love myself more
_became closer to my best friend
_fell in love with nicola’s packs of sugar
_learnt romantic words in french
_went to beach parties in italy with *pie* and woke up with a swollen eye
_spent 88% of the time in my bikini
_thought about *him* and realised that the world never really stopped moving, even when it felt otherwise

sometimes when i play that old six-string, i think about you and wonder what went wrong