I don’t know why I put myself through it. Maybe it’s my fault.

I talk too much.

Maybe I’m meant to live in a cave and splatter illegible scribbles on it’s walls. Or maybe live in the woods in a little cottage furnished only with a desk, typewriter and minifridge (for alcohol, of course).

I’m just not meant to be around people. I don’t fit in and aside from playful banter, I don’t ask for much.



I don’t remember exactly what I was going through when I typed those words. But, I found them filed away in some of my drafts and figured, why not go ahead and post it?


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