Yasmin

I was sighing 'you don't believe me,' we are leaving from Idaho, take drink and forget lethargy, but i haven't got the energy, she is such a giving soul, this friend of Marguerite's, my Italian friend says she, is recent to New York, but doesn't live there happily, maybe because she feels guilty, she wears a lovers crown, and only now sleeps fitfully, why do thoughts betray our dreams, or try make us atone, by staring at the empty country, in winter sun the train makes speed, it's as good as being alone, she paints her face for security, i hold the mobile phone.