When I went to Russia, I did not intend to see 'him'. All I had in mind is that ethereal palace in which he and I raised our careless infatuation in.Visiting it's faded walls of an ever enchanting gold and blue, I realised my love for 'him' grew tenfold as the melancholy reverie settled in. Perhaps winter will let 'him' know.Winter knew my words of passionate abhorration meant nothing, but ' Я тебя люблю'.

September 29th, 1972, 1am



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RK Sierra

'I was born a bitch, I was born a painter.' — Frida Kahlo

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