lucy

My lovelies, I'm barely breathing from exhaustion but brimming with stories of late-night orgiastic bursts of creativity and fashion, dancing, drinking, drugs, and debauchery. One too many glasses of wine, few too many meals, and too many hours spent embracing the night sky and cursing the morning light screaming its obnoxiously cheery greeting into bloodshot eyes. I've been spending nights passed out in the safety of friend's apartments or curled up in the arms of lovers after clandestine encounters. All of the lovers I take now, all pretty princes. No more frogs for me. I'm no longer looking for my particular prince charming, just a charming prince who will be mine for the span of a few hours.




I love falling in love. I've resolved to do it more often, and now my amorous advances to the night sky, to a lovely new shade of lipstick, to a particularly heady glass of wine...to the world itself...I'm in love with the universe, and it's quite fucking enamored of me. My life is all I could ever ask for at present.
I have the perfect job and my boss is the most amazing one I could ever hope for. I have fashionable, creative new friends whom I adore. My lovers are lovely. I spend my days sleeping until noon and waking languidly from my sleep. Most importantly, I'm able to create beauty.






I have haikus to write all of you lovelies that left me sweet little 5-7-5 poems in my last journal. ( I'll refuse to call this little cozy space of mine a 'blog' until the day I die; the word 'blog' sounds like something green I'd cough up. I hate the word.) They're coming, soon, I promise. Tonight, though, I fight to keep my eyes open long enough to leave you this missive, because I miss you all.

love you all, my faithful little perverts.
xoxo
love lucy b. brutal