I sit in front of my computer typing away and there chimes tinkling and trees rustling from the chilly, early winter wind. The sky is cloudy and grey and despite wearing socks, my feet feel like popsicles. I can hear my mother preparing dinner downstairs. She’s a lovely woman, one of the only people that truly matter in my life. On my desk are my companions for this afternoon: my personal notebook and my cup English breakfast.
I enjoy this type of lifestyle. It feels like im in contact with my source. And when I am in touch with my source, everything I do feels right.
I have difficulties expressing my true thoughts with people. When you express too much, you can ruin relationships with people. It may be due to the circumstances in that particular moment or perhaps the individual, but here, behind the security of anonymity there is nothing that can hinder me.
This page was not meant to be discovered and popularised. It may be forever buried in the deep recesses of the net. But being able to write it on paper realises them. Placing them here will immortalise them.
finarly 