I've been playing up my senses lately and I wonder out loud- am I witting in the right style? I writhe and write every morning I wake up early because the sun hits my bed and makes me sweat.
Today it is 28 degrees and I am wearing wide leg jeans sweating out all the nutrition I attempted to cumulate into my body last night. My hair feels flat and my eyes and temples are aching something spectacular. but my mind is saying that I shall never love you, and that I never loved you, oh but how I loved you, and you and you were forgotten and so was the 3 before but the one before that how I ached for him too. That being said I know my past and I see my future. I am standing by the looking glass, and I still want to be part of those fantasy worlds. there isn't a space big enough to hold my heart, nor my complications and implications- Ive kept witting them down on pieces of paper bound by red leather- I like anything red, I am wholly red. But those pages of mine number around 100's and millions that Ive read, re-read and analyzed
I feel like a sad sorry girl, but I'm not really. I dont think I am at least. I'm just upset because my ipod battery died and I had no music to skip to, only a lonely voice to listen to on my phone.