We are essentially the same person, and we both like this picture of vanilla because it makes us feel edgy, like we're not the kind of people who have watched every episode of Parade's End. We're a little bit edgy, you know. A little bit.
You're a phony, but you're a real phony, like Holly Golightly. You actually believe all this phony stuff you believe in. But will you ever believe in yourself? I don't know, little buddy.
You want to be in love. You want to be sent a dozen roses in a fine cut crystal vase. Those articles about the death of courtship make you recoil, as you know that something you regard as sacred may be in danger of being violated, or casually discarded. I want you to know that if circumstances were entirely different, I would send you roses on the first Tuesday of every month.
Your parents were strict vegans, and it was a gluten free household. When you went to your friends' houses you wanted to descend on all the carbs that were cooking. You still associate the scent of cookies with sheer carnal desire. You associate them with what you cannot have.
We are essentially the same person, and we both like this picture of vanilla because it makes us feel edgy, like we're not the kind of people who have watched every episode of Parade's End. We're a little bit edgy, you know. A little bit.
Someone once told me that all the most sophisticated people always smell of sandalwood, and now, whenever I smell it on someone, I assume that they are James Bond or the female equivalent. Are you?
You are wonderfully athletic, and a friend to cows.
You want to create. You want to will everything into being. You're terrified of impermanence, and of death itself.
You're really good in bed. You just are.
