If there's a kind of itch that I love and abhor at the same time - something that leaves me in stitches, squeezes every drip of my sanity and hatches abandoned stares at the ceiling - it's trying to come up with a hill of words to add to this scarce, online space. Most of the time, all I have are meager thoughts and humdrum experiences that hang loosely in the air, untouched. And sometimes I prefer to keep it that way because I patronize boring.
I'm a pseudo-writer. Even at that, I'm still a failure.
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