Tired. This body has already had enough. I can't be stuck in between without thinking of what might happen had I made a couple different decisions. I can't help but think how certain conversations epically divide beings made for mutual affection. Surrender, if you don't you'll never think to know control.
Because, in the end, as the song goes, control is something out of my control. And that's the only thing I can identify with. That's what I'm singing at seven something in the morning, tired, useless, as I just checked my marks in school. Control is something out of my control. A cop-out?
I now type in paragraph form.
laziness?
I hope not.
I hope my spaces affect the way you sleep at night.
Because that's the only reason I keep my thumb next to the space bar. So that in some world that I imagine, you'll notice them and count them on a separate page.
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