Those little voices, they bring tidings of an impending misery.
Misery, that of which begets woe.
Woe, that of which begets a frailty deep within the corners of my mind.
Writing about the simple, everyday things in life has come to a grinding halt.
Loosely translated, it could possibly mean blogging.
(shrugs) Pah, nomenclature. I bet "translated" doesn't even come close to the right word.
But, I digress.
Instead, those swirling thoughts are either carefully nitpicked to fit in here - nothing too offensive or infuriating, for instance - or stored safely away in the drafts, locked, keys swallowed.
Why?
'Cause of all you pestilent judgmental creatures.
'Cause you can never be too good at what you do.
'Cause love and hate, both sides are conjoined. Physical forms have to deal with both sides of the coin.
All of us were wrong, except for you.
Silly little smart girl.
