Wednesday, January 30, 2013

You take care of the garden in my heart and you say you don't need to be paid, but I will, in the end, because I know what a mess it is (and you are doing an extremely good job). You pluck the weeds and plant your seeds and soon there will be flowers again and butterflies and it will smell of spring and I will lie in the grass and enjoy the sun 
and I hope you will lie next to me.