her november diary

I wish I had something brilliant&intelligent&wise to say. Something uncharacteristic, something that would make another scratch his chin in renewed wonder, some pretty gem encrusted with the dust of the oft-overlooked. But I don't, and I can't, so where else do we turn to than the capital of whimsical romances, Paris?






Poetry everyday in the streets, how fortunate. I really ought to be studying for SATs/editing proposals/doing homework but instead, I'm eating my heart out of envy for the beautiful life thecherryblossomgirl is living halfway across the world. It is somewhat with the same feeling that I am now confessing my desire to watch the positively-trashy Wild Child. What to do, hang-ups from a childhood fed full with English boarding schools, crisp uniforms, lacrosse sticks and midnight feasts. Malory Towers, St Claire's, ring a bell? Echoes of a life not meant to be lived. Harumph.

( iced peach tea & milos )