lateonenite
I point my wand at the sky and do not fail to think of the phallic associations. I cast a spell of wanting, though wish the phallus was not in my way. I want to be different. I want to change. I want to live differently to the way I live now. Gods and Goddesses, grant me this boon.
To be specific is the death of romance, because the words run out and you end up repeating yourself. It’s one thing to feel foolish and goofy in love, but feeling like an idiot in words takes it one step too far. I hate stumbling. I live alone, with fifteen cats. Specifically.