i'm so cold.

i shiver as i try to write. i keep turning the heat up; but still my fingers and toes remain bitter.

get to the fucking point...

numb, there is no other word. i am indifferent to the numbness...what does that mean?

i am nothing.
i feel nothing.
tired
quiet
brave
scared
deep in a surface kind of way.
impassioned
indifferent
numb, dumb
and drowning in the nothingness.
sad
careful
deliberate
clumsy
graceful like an ugly duckling.

i feel no mercy for myself. why should i? here i am, chance after chance to get it right. squandering opportunities because of fear. speak damn you! speak! otherwise, what the fuck is the point?

if you read this...

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don’t speak often, even if we don’t know each other, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you’re finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.