I noticed, that I haven't written a new journal since january.
And, like totally, I have absolutely nothing to say :la:
Blah
Blah
Blah.
Yep.
Yes, sometimes I'm a weirdo.
I don't want this thing to be so short, so maybe letting Nabokov say something will be a better idea.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was alwa