though i act kind of like a bimbo in person,
it's okay, right, as long as it's not all you are?
everyone should make a point of cultivating depth.
if you can get past my stuttering or the long windedness and the fact that i'm sometimes dull,
i can go on and on about conrad and wilde, eliot and pound, prevert and st. exupery. rachmaninoff and prokofiev, dvorak and elgar and liszt.
i can play you those.
i can sing you lullabies in french.
i can write lines from poems i've learnt by heart into your skin.
i can tell you about the dreams. the dreams are the best part, love. i haven't even begun with those.
i am extraordinary, in my own strange way.
and if you can't see that, fuck you. i'll see it enough for both of us. and you can damn well be sure i'll stutter and fumble my way there.