A Late Valentine

I mostly think of Edgar Allan Poe as a morbid writer, but I rediscovered some of his poetry. This is my favorite:

To F____S S. O_____D

Thou wouldst be loved---then let thy heart
From it's present pathway part not!

Being every thing which now thou art,

Be nothing which thou art not.

So with the world thy gentle ways,

Thy grace, thy more than beauty,

Shall be an endless theme of praise

And love---a simple duty.

-Edgar Allan Poe.

I took a picture of these pretty flowers that fell off of their stems.

This is the ceiling of the Morrocan restaurant I went to for Emma's bachelorette party. There were crazy cool lights.

This is me being sad and lonely on Valentine's day. So emo.

This is me being weird, which is normal.