18.7.11

E.E. Cummings' precision.

1(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness

Hopes, bygone.

For sometime, I have lost the will to write and lost the heart that was vast with rainbows and storms. My words became pathetic attempts at blurting out nothingness. And I became a sod who is hung up on memories.

My life. Let me revel in my sadness at every chance presented to me.

Biar.