In the time of things abruptly change.
Are the times I have been in on a voyage leading none but a stormy chaotic confusions.
Irritance, Annoyance and restlessness of the soul care to carry me from 0 to half a day's worry.
Yet only one motion,
strangeness of times of moderate skies,
melancholic states,
weird unblance stability,
I am given comfort in the mediocrity of things.
There I see changes not from anyone but the shift of problem into a
remedy of the seconds where the problems are acquired.
Thu formed my gullibility of being someone's lacky,
not someone to be loved and have love.
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall7 days ago in Fiction
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