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Surrealism
Surrealism
A small, tan coloured book, completely unadorned. The binding is worn and aged, the pages slightly tattered and curling towards the edges. Several small notes peek out here and there from between the sheaves of parchment and pieces of torn blue silk mark places within.
Wednesday, 03 September 2014
Nothing has changed, I really am still an enormous pain in the bos but I like to think that it's part of my charm. At least this is what I am going to tell myself. Well that and role, location, threat, action. Back to the point. I am sure I have already laboured the point of how demanding I can be, I think everyone I have ever known can attest to that, and dealing with me can be a trying experience. Dealing with myself is a trying experience. I don't often ask for what I could not deliver in return though, mostly. Maybe I should try to be a little less me and a little more everyone else. Or at least what everyone else seems to have become.

We fight so that we may live, but when living becomes nothing but fighting, have we not already lost? We must remember to do a little living in between, at least I must or all that is alive and vibrant within me will surely wither away.

And doesn't anyone ever have a party anymore? Or a ball perhaps? Gods, I miss a good ball.
Celestia posted @ 18:32 - Link - comments
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