Har pluggat i några timmar nu så tänkte skriva ett inlägg.
Satt precis och läste ur "The picture of Dorian Gray" som jag ska jobba lite med i en engelska uppgift
och var bara tvungen att skriva ett utdrag här som verkligen fastnade, det kändes så himla mycket jag just för stunden:

"The painter considered for a few moments. 'He likes me,' he answered, after a pause; 'I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole sould to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day." (/Basil)
(- - -)
"What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance of art one might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic." (/Harry)
(Oscar Wilde -The picture of Dorian Gray; 1981.)


Det är såhär jag vill få sagt saker jag inte kan sätta ord på.

Tack Jennica för att du fick mig att börja läsa den här.
Uppdaterar säkert senare.

Peace out.

"I don't wanna win this game if I can't play it my way."