Late at night, when the only sounds the solitary literary reader may perceive through their shut window, is the buzz of a far off car late at night when thoughts seem to drift away in bubbles, all concluding to be joined to a large castle somewhere above the clouds.
There is method to the maddest of this late night tea drinker. Though they will admonish the sun when it returns the next morn and curse their dalliest nature which would grow more prudent to fault and delays with the dark bags under the late night drinker eyes, the drinker will not persist truly in doing away with what is to be part of their soul and being. A late night tea drinker is a being of habit in what might be deemed by those who do not admonish the sun, damaging, and though the drinker knows this too, how can the drink and peace found at such late hour really hold consequences? How can what is so fine not vanquish all ill effect of what is deemed self-disadvantaging. The tea drinker is truely a fierce warrior who fights to appoint their unworthy habits as a finer hour which may not be found by those in ill opinions, and thus seek what must be of future discovery in greatness. The tea drinker is truely a fine species of study.
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Written in a minute: short stories
Short StorySo much of writing is written and then lost forever, or you spiral, and never get back to the canvas that is writing, so here I suppose is an online version of a journal. I wrote more, then deleted it bc it sounded real depressed. So read maybe one...
