I’m sorry for a lot of things for the many story’s that are trapped and stirring, growing and twisting in my head but I had to let them grow in order for me to better grasp them into text on a screen to let my frustrations grow to a point for me to write for hours when I should sleep on a day when I could do it with little consequence besides a lack of story
I’m not going to lie I’m scared of you guys I’m afraid of opinions of others and scared of criticism but most of all I’m scared of not completing a story or making a good one at that
I’m still learning barely living and mostly following, thinking and hurting. It’s fun it’s present, nice, and enjoyable, sad, depressing, and dull, it’s like a story of which I have no idea of comprehending where I have no idea of what I should do, be, or feel. If I’m a bad guy or delusional I have no Idea, if I’m a pervert or not is hard to say since I am but don’t act on it
I don’t know, I don’t know anything, everything is odd, everything is life, everything is just fine, and I’m not sure if I am
