Sometimes when I close my eyes I forget that I too am human.
What a cruel joke waking up always is.
I want a pair of wings that don't come with a price tag or elastic bands.
It's funny to think about a book of blank pages for some reason the empty lines appeal to me more than once they are covered with tiny thoughts by unsteady hands.
Is it too much to ask for endless possibility?
To be completely honest, I think maybe, just a little, I worry too much. I am an over-thinker. I analyze and reanalyze and then analyze some more.
I always say that I don't know what's wrong with me but maybe that's the point...maybe it is nothing?
I'm not broken?
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