Sunday, November 09, 2008

For someone who sings, I think it's strange that I can't whistle for my life.
Sure, I can make a noise, but it's full of air, and I can't hold a tune.

The clouds are gray outside, and the trees are naked. All their leaves have abandoned them and they're left to deal with the harsh winter air. It makes me want to hide in my house and never leave.

I wonder if I'm still hidden.

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