Welcome, to my space. 

Sometimes I forget

what I love. and why. I miss writing, constructing grammatically poor sentences of heartfelt thoughts.

But I know why I do disappear.

I like to pretend all is good.

I like to hide from myself.

I know this does no good, because right there I am. But still I pretend.

Like the girl on stage who pulls her dress over her head, because if she can't see you, you can no longer see her.

So, perhaps I need to be here. Because I need this. Even if no one else ever reads this, I need this.

Simply, put I do.


And then there was 30

A ramble if you will