“Sometimes when I’m certain I begin to wonder,” she said.
“Wonder what?” he asked.
“About the wonder of certainty and the certainty of wonder,” she said.
“Sometimes when I’m certain I begin to wonder,” she said.
“Wonder what?” he asked.
“About the wonder of certainty and the certainty of wonder,” she said.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 27th, 2013 at 7:00 am and is filed under whimsy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
| TraceyS on Whose breasts are they? | |
| xerox phaser 8560 er… on Rural round-up | |
| TraceyS on Sunday soapbox | |
| TraceyS on Sunday soapbox | |
| Deborah on Whose breasts are they? | |
| rimu123 on What are they for? |
Theme: Contempt by Vault9.
Blog at WordPress.com.