Lunch in Tagaytay
What we had for lunch at Josephine's--a most deadly
combination of crispy pata and pork sinigang, haha.
Then it was off to Starbucks for dessert. On the way
home we bought some potted plants.
a random mental scrapbook for things rescued from the
detritus of everyday, maintained
by an impossibly romantic, oftentimes obsessive compulsive, but always incredibly
unfrazzled and beautiful (or so she'd like to think), bride-to-be.
A woman who writes feels too much,those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands weren't enough;
as if mourners and gossips and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially
a spy. Dear love,
I am that girl. --from THE BLACK ART by Anne Sexton