'The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say'. - Anais Nin.
These words (unless otherwise stated) are all formed within my brain and somehow executed to form this journal.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
You
How many times will I hear your name before its just a word? How many times will I remember before I forget? When will the tape stop playing sweet melodies? When will I run out of words to write about you? When will the rose coloured glasses let me see your true colours? When will you stop occupying that compartment in my brain that has been yours to own longer than it should?
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