Elle est comme un oiseau

The universe has definitely righted itself. Hannah, you are one smart cookie.
(Mmm...cookies...I remember what cookies taste like...)


In following tradition of opening with a Broadway stanza:
That's why, I couldn't be happier...


And apparently this blog will be written
In this format. See the picture? Becoming clearer? Oh good.


You have the most piercing eyes. You have the warmest laugh. You tease me and tickle me and poke me. I love it. I pretend not to. You're not allowed to use that against me, because this is all in my head. Is it in your head? You're in my head. You have my Snuggie. Give it back. I want to sing songs with you. I want to hold your hand. I don't want to sing that song with you. I don't want to be just another cliche. Any more than I already am, I guess. You have dry hands. But they are comforting. They release oxytocin (from my anterior pituitary) into my bloodstream.
You make me remember what it's like to be me again. I never said thank-you for that.
"Gravity is not responsible for people falling in love." -Albert Einstein
When the space-time contiuum rights itself, my do things ever go along smoothly. Like peanut butter. Fucking peanut butter. Now if only those bitches would get out of our spot.

Me Gustas Cuando Callas

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas estan llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mia.
Mariposa de sueno, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolia.

Me gustas cuando callas y estas como distante.
Y estas como quejandote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
dejame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Dejame que te hable tambien con tu silencio
claro como una lampara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

-Pablo Neruda