EATING ANTS, INSULTING THE UNEMPLOYED & LOVING YOU LIKE CRAZY
i'd drink to that if i were you, but since i can't be you, i shall confine everything to a gentle murmur. maybe a life of moderation and conformity is exactly what i'm set to take, but i'd love to be proud of myself for at least taking one step of madness (calculated, nonetheless) for something i really wish for. and an additional step of utter abandonment of all good sense just to let that child breathe (even if it's only a whiff) before being shoo-ed back into a crumpled corner. at least the moments will remain as frozen snapshots capable of stirring recollection and mustering strength for an added mile. they will be colored as i will and arranged in absolutely random arrays, all with a touch of playful glee and thoughtful position. the stars will resonate with glorious splendor (in silver dress). murmurs don't remain themselves for very long, lacking much needed discipline (the mother of all respect) and containment, but every story is birthed with a murmur. it's more of the potential buried within it that gathers momentum and runs its own version of truth, its own voice of reason. cheers.