Writer's block. That's what I've got. That irritating little bug that just eats up all that writing before it can come pouring out of your mind. It sucks. That's probably the reason I get depressed in March. Well now in February. All that writing that people expect me to do. But I just can't ok. I kinda hope I don't get accepted to the writing programs...cause then I'll be able to stay here for TOP and other stuff.
I don't want to sleep. I want to walk, but there is no way my dad would let me. School starts tomorrow. I want to just sit here and have time to read, draw, walk, maybe even write. But I don't have that time and I won't have it until at least 3 weeks from now. I don't mind facing the world right now but I want time...that's all.
Color of the sky: A thick mist, a veil surrounding our town like a bubble. Arising from the ground and drifting up into the atmosphere. It's kinda eerie, like that path down that old unused road where they told you faeries live...
And now the rain washes the illusions away leaving only streaks on my window and a concrete road.
Happend...it became. So it was written. That's the story. That is what was. Here are the events which end now. I dunno. The word just sounded pretty.
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