Tuesday, May 31, 2011

We all secretly long to be adored, to be given bunches of roses, to be gifted with mindless little whimsies, to have our barmy imaginings listened to. But most of the time we go through life shut up like a clam with a wound festering inside waiting to be healed.

Picture: A bit of a ferris wheel that I once glimpsed from my window when a fair came to town.