Wolf at Dusk

There is something moon soaked and dawn flavoured about her. Something kissed by the wild and loved by lightning. She looks like Artemis after a night of storm hunting. She looks like the sun as it rises after kissing the dawn.

Of course, I miss you. No one else knows how to be a Friday night on a Monday morning, the split second decision before a long midnight drive, the sweet surprise of rainfall after the hottest day. In the book of my life, you will always be my favourite adventure. But beings like you will never belong to anyone. Wild things like you can only belong to yourself and to the moon.

Its like the Ghostbusters fell through a fucking singularity and ended up in  Medieval times. I love it. 

This is the funkerhearse and it gets better; they’re actually flame throwers. Merry christmas.