Toast.

Dear Fleur.
So I feel very neglectful of my writing. I should fix that.
I want toast for breakfast every morning too. That is getting old.
Also,
Kirsten comes in one day.
I think I might scream.
So tomorrow I shall be positively busy in a Lauren Child sort of way. I will paint. Babysit. Draw. Write. Read two more books. Go swimming. Drink tea. See a concert. And clean.
Then she will be here.
Then I will scream.
And we can have toast together.
Bell.

I think there is an imaginary handprint on the left side of my face. And I think I like it.

We are supposed to go to the Goodwill today. And maybe an antique store. And I think there has been talk of more food. But we are always talking of food.
For breakfast we had leftover donuts(from our party last night) and lattes.
Yes.
We had a donut party last night.
And I am actually kind of going crazy here. I'm reading Kirsten's book, "Just Do Something." It's sort of like someone slapped me on the back of my head and said, make a decision already! So I'm going to. And it's exciting. And scary. And involves my own donut parties and my own closet.

And now she's playing the piano and Stephanie is brushing her teeth in the kitchen.

I like this house.

Sentemintal Heart.

Right now, I am sitting in Kirsten Bean's kitchen.
WITH HER.
We are looking at donut recipes. And I am so explicitely happy. Not even close to joking. I'm serious. And I've been making cinnamon rolls all day. It's so hard to be serious after that.

I love her.

She's singing Zooey Deschanel. And we are kind of mad. And it's glorious.

I would stay here forever if I could.

I don't even eat them.

Dear Fleur.
Yesterday I made French Donuts. But I want to make real donuts with Kirsten Bean. Like real donuts. Good donuts.
And then we could drink lattes together[?].
I would like that.
Love Bell.

Kirsten Bean.

Dear Kirsten.
You are my favourite.

(Today is her birthday.
She is 18 years old.
I MISS HER.)

So today I ran around wearing mascara and danced in my front yard and drank too many cups of tea and pretended you were with me.
You and I are so different.
And so much the same.

You likes mangoes. I hate mangoes.
But I still love you.

I wish I was in your bedroom and we were counting spoons together or something.
I adore you babe.

I think I'm going to go study french now and put my pajamas on and make you another birthday card while ripping up magazines.
Wait till you see what I found for you Honey.
Je t'aime.
Love Your Bell.