Friday, October 13, 2006

5i.

"I am not a perfectionist."

She pauses, fullstopped, pentip on paper. She glances at her handwriting, cursived. Brushing words.

It looks strange to her.

She tears the letter up and starts on an empty sheet.

White. Wordless.
Posted by at

2 comments:

nat said...

Joy! Tut, tut, tut. How can you drink red wine?You're underaged!

6:23 PM
rhille said...

whimsical,indeed.
poor gal.
is this the same one as the Cafe serviette one?
God. i hope not.

10:13 PM

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)