bea, a little young but feeling like an old oak bench giving in to decay. my writing style would be categorized as pretentious, and here follows a paragraph to well exemplify it.
I loathe the possibility that there may be a day when the great people won't be able to hide anymore, to cloak a facade, because they can't create worlds within their thoughts. when men and women can't outdo their own creations with outgrowths of their heads, I'm afraid we won't even strive to live, because insanity will consume us from living in our own reality and it's unbearable to think so.
i dislike capital letters so anything i post here might be held as grammatically incorrect but e h