(how does one sleep when they are going to italy tomorrow) (???)
On the verge
All hail blogging as a diary
The balloon is ready, I’ve tethered it to the balcony with a knot no sailor could invent. Ignore the gathering crowd below. Plebeians! Maybe if we look closely we will find our mothers waving handkerchiefs, and our fathers scrowling. If we see any children we’ll throw them candy but don’t tell them why we are up here, floating above Belleville in a hot air balloon. If they knew, they’d never want to sleep in their own beds ever again.
Remember how we met? Barefoot on the beach (the hem of your dress starched white with salt). I was flying a beautiful kite. Yours was ragged and obviously self made. After a few failed attempts at flight you threw your kite on the sand and stomped on it. I wondered if it was your first kite. Kite making, you assured me, was not your specialty. But we are too old for kites. Let us toast the Flying Club Cup, our health, a quick painless death and helium.
I’m going to sleep so well tonight.
Breathe in, deeply now, okay do you feel it?
Don’t worry, we’re finally here."
— Ryan Condon (via crowleysplants)