| 17 Septembre 1942, et encore |
[16 Apr 2009|12:18am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 pessimistic |
] |
Written in Provençal and very well warded.
this was easier when mlle leffoy was around to play with. i have no camouflage and no excuse, no jealous tantrum to throw or amorous spectacle to make. no way out. albrecht and his petya off doing things I’ll have to know without retching tomorrow but it’s still canapés and champagne and glass jewels tonight.
wearing my favourite trousers because with everything i've done and is happening i refuse to die in unfashionable clothes.
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| 17 Septembre 1942 |
[14 Apr 2009|12:16pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 worried |
] |
Written in Provençal and very well warded.
she’s gone missing.
not just missing from me like she always did like she always was
leaving me alone with the green eyed fairy
but gone like no one can find her and i always knew where she was when she wasn’t with me
things here are bad enough for me to stop writing in a garret and get down in the muck; there are things more important to worry about than one girl
but i always knew where she was and she got me down here, i want her to see it when things are done and our city school country people get to rise.
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contemplative