NO. My mind has not resolved it’s usual reckless dashing be that as it may, no words have made their way to the page. So much
499 pieces
Love… A puzzle will never be completed with only 499 pieces no matter how smooth the talk of a salesman, value still decreases Still, there’s nothing
simulated memories
My imaginations fabrications take to me to a fairytale land in a parallel space Only my deep inner adolescence could give the come-on to such
blank paper
At this moment in time, I am not specifically exhibiting any true feeling A lovely thing as it means that I am not expressing anything
rig-or-mor-ti-phobia
Fetched my cleverly thought out and over analyzed diagnosis, I had received last year To make sure that I still understand who I am and
Misery hates company
Impulsive this is not, by virtue of perpetual hours of considerate speculation I have come to find that I cannot find reprieve in a phony
