I am saddened.
A little brown bird I had once known, plain as a sparrow but free as a lark, and with the lovely voice of a nightengale, this little brown bird has decided to become a dull twig, she has shed her plump curvaceous feathers of confidence for the harsh angles of branchhood. Twigs. The like she had once made nests of.
I may refine these thoughts to make a poem. Who knows.
Oh, and music camp today. I am totally prepared to crash, and it's only eleven. That is incredibly pathetic. In fact, there are things i should do now, but I have ZERO energy. It's gone. And overdrive has faded.
I feel nothing.
Not even the presence of snowballing imminent embarassment. Please, do not witness the humiliation. Why do I let myself get talked into these things?