03 febrúar 2006

Þurr á manninn á afmælinu

Thirty-seven today, sound as a bell, apart from my old weakness, and intellectually I have every reason to suspect at the crest of the wave or thereabouts.

Celebrated the awful occasion, as in recent years, quietly at the Winehouse. Not a soul. Sat before the fire with closed eyes, separating the grain from the husks.

Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.

(Cheers, Sam)

1 ummæli:

Mossmann sagði...

Já æ þú veist gervihnattaröld og svona. En til hamingju samt með daginn.