viernes, 23 de septiembre de 2011

White Walkers

My tongue is tied and my arms, exhausted. I'm mental and my legs can't stop moving. I don't know where I'm going, but least I know where I'm coming from. This might be the beginning of the end, but I don't really care, actually. My days are quite stressful. I wonder wether I should be feeling bad because things aren't as easy as I had expected them to be. It's far harder than I thought it would be, but I don't mind at all. I'll get used to it, and that's the main point. I may be too high to see the point, or even what I shall do. I just don't worry about it, I'll figure out what I have to do. I need to take my time. One week is not enough.

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