i do not always wear my wedding dress to pick up an Indian lunch,
but when i do i definetely attach my Bvlgari set with it in its full scale.

when i was young and poor, i have always adored those guys.
people in Balmain jeans with a strange color (not your usual beige!)
Birkin on the left hand and the same wallet in the right hand, just
bringing everything to the register without caring about any tags.

in my head they always had to work some undaily big jobs.
like working on a black market or giving the best into AV ads.
not your usual daily routine with an estimated pay check and all.
you know.

this morning, when i almost dropped my serpenti ring in a bottle
from the Cannes festival, i realized that maybe i became that girl.
smiling like a child, when they say that there is a Nespresso coffee
machine in my Hayatt room in Fukuoka (we are all about wedding),
yelling at a fast food guy, who forgot to put a cheese in my curry,
almost running him dead on a storm day all the way up to my house.

i almost never stop looking at the price tags.
over dinner conversations circle around, if i finally go plastics and get
new scars, will they be worse that the ones i got from the past wars?
did you know, that if you push a wrist hard enough, there will be a
strawberry coctail even without any additional instruments attached?

three years ago, we were talking about how we fly to Mexico and grow
weed if i could not get my fucked up divorce and imperia straight. oh, babe.
it seems, that things turn out to be. i do not know how, but they always do.

i am drugged on additives after my mental breakdown, it feels like all the
parts of the body would separate on its own, because the staff is stupid.
but my wedding dress is taupe (mm..its like a beautiful deep dusk color),
i bought almost all the serpenti collection, linked to the anniversary date.
probably, it costs like a small house, but i resent the check of this one to
the groom. things are not bad for me, at least not like they used to be.

soy libre.