This life I'm in is something I chose.
As if living has now finished and the prime of your life has blossomed, ignited, burned and slowly withered, wilting away into the sunset of life.
But I think it's okay for me to say, 'I'm not fine, but I'm getting to a point where I know I will be fine soon.'
It shows how we as people live for stories.
'But it could be worse. We could be... alive.'
Snow is change. It holds time. But, it is beautiful.
The good, the bad and the OP Ultima key.
It tells a story through its artwork.
I haven't had a clear thought in months dear, Reader. It's been like wading through a fog, the air uneasy... like an anxious inhalation just before the sound of squelching mud. And I don't know why dear, Reader? Clarity is dangled in front of me through the opaque concept of a sabbatical. It tingles through… Continue reading Fog