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September 16, 2011
There are roses spun from sugar here. They melt on your tongue and, sometimes, in your hand. There are rivers of nectar. The sunshine is made of honey, and drips and pours and runs down your skin so slooooowly. Sticky.

Sticky, sticky, sticky.

The rain is made of... rain. Water. Clear and pure and clean. It washes down and rinses all that stickiness away. It washes it into the oceans where the mermaids play in their white salt towers and crave the days when their seas turn sweet as a tide.

Your mind is such a beautiful place, love.