in belgium there are flea markets where you can go scooping up memories, just like this, there are piles and piles of postcards, mountains of postcards, faded photographs on one side and the other covered in scrawling lines of fabulous ink, probably exquisite sentences in French, the flowing hand immaculate and ornate, good god, the whole place is haunted in a way i’ve never seen. in a manner totally unlike
xxx bookworm