writing (7)
There is just something that feels right about those New York City lights. A world that swallows you in whole from your pigtails to your shadow. Lovely bones exposed, weak knees induced. Just please don't start to vomit, for we wouldn't know what to do. We are overwhelmed quite easily, yet we lack insecuity, for each boy and girl to look pretty is quite often the norm. We lack individuality and spontaneously combust quite frequently, and I always catch myself questioning this odd superiority. I love the static on the television for it now resembles the sky. We are the broadcasting channel every one receives, but it comes in pretty shy. Sometimes the rain here feels pretty dry, and it's moments like this I have to just take my time.
It's just ramble. It means nothing. I'm going to sleep.