this is my dumping place for things that flit through the air between my ears, and somehow spew through my fingers. sorry.
when the world comes to an end, i just hope i’ll have made a mark, tracing my footsteps with a candle, scribbling in the dark. my story is a concerto that i play as i compose, drawing the final note as the curtains draw to a close. and if all the world’s a stage, then i present to you the perfect cast; all those who made me who i am, that are immortalized in my past. i owe them all a bow, where everyone can see, because if even one didn’t play their part, i would not be me. i didn’t have many friends, but those few were just enough, to be the smoothing friction needed when life became too rough. i hope i was that for someone, when someone needed me. if not for the actual disaster, then at least to clean up the debris. some are quick to share a laugh, but not for very long, they never stop to appreciate the solid few that made them strong. to them, i’ll argue that the point of friendship is not how many you know, but how many really know you. because where we end up going, is also a summation of what we go through. friends help you see yourself after the glass in the mirror shatters. because nothing can equal being present at the times when the present is all that matters.