I like tea. It is soothing, it calms me. I take my time, and enjoy it. For it is my time. There are other times like this time, they may belong to other people, but this is my time. I know, because I marked it.
Other people mark time by writing it down in a little book. I mark time with this. You probably couldn't see how I did that though. That's okay.
I like little books too, I only have so much time to write in them though. Once per day, once per day I have to write this down. Because it is important. If I forget to write it down I might forget it altogether, and then where would I be? Important things are important.
I'm writing down what I used to be like. I use words to do it because when I stab the pages I just get confetti, and since I don't have anything to celebrate right now, that's pretty counterproductive.
I can only write down a little bit every day though, not all at once. I can't squander it. Plus, there's the possibility of detection. I don't want it to find me writing. It would be very upset if it noticed me writing down and preserving things like they used to be. It might even do me harm. SO I write down what's important in little bits, just a little bit each day.
I used to dream. I dreamed of wonderful things. Soft things, not like this thing here, this thing is hard, and sharp, and often rather wet and red. No, I dreamt of pages and pages of beautiful thoughts. Of ways to build things that made people smile. I can still make people smile though, except they don't stop when they're done, and for some reason, some people frown on that. Who knew permanence would be so troublesome?
But I used to dream. Now, now I don't even sleep.
I should go, I hear it stirring. It's getting angry. And I don't want that. I just want to dream again.
Other people mark time by writing it down in a little book. I mark time with this. You probably couldn't see how I did that though. That's okay.
I like little books too, I only have so much time to write in them though. Once per day, once per day I have to write this down. Because it is important. If I forget to write it down I might forget it altogether, and then where would I be? Important things are important.
I'm writing down what I used to be like. I use words to do it because when I stab the pages I just get confetti, and since I don't have anything to celebrate right now, that's pretty counterproductive.
I can only write down a little bit every day though, not all at once. I can't squander it. Plus, there's the possibility of detection. I don't want it to find me writing. It would be very upset if it noticed me writing down and preserving things like they used to be. It might even do me harm. SO I write down what's important in little bits, just a little bit each day.
I used to dream. I dreamed of wonderful things. Soft things, not like this thing here, this thing is hard, and sharp, and often rather wet and red. No, I dreamt of pages and pages of beautiful thoughts. Of ways to build things that made people smile. I can still make people smile though, except they don't stop when they're done, and for some reason, some people frown on that. Who knew permanence would be so troublesome?
But I used to dream. Now, now I don't even sleep.
I should go, I hear it stirring. It's getting angry. And I don't want that. I just want to dream again.
