My Memorandums.


Whisper, don’t talk.
21/12/2008, 12:30 am
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Knowing you should not act out in any way which will cause harm to your being does not stop the process.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Backspace.   I’ve told people enough about me, given away enough, written long enough for everybody to read and then relate to.  The veins on my hands and the wrinkles at the middle of my fingers are only what I see now, aside from the varying nature of light and shade.  I feel tears which have slid from the top of my throat to the bottom; swallowed tears.  A chest which has on it too much pressure, and a mouth which does not want to open to breathe comfortably.  Reminded of Princess Diana who had everything and wanted to kill herself, I part my lips to take a deep breath.  A crying woman printed by my feet on a foggy window became my best friend, until she faded.  The first woman that was able to bring the tears out from my eyes was this foggy woman.  A tear dropped only when she disappeared.  In times of sadness, noise is unwanted and heavily unappreciated.  In times of sadness, quiet and stillness are very much needed.  Whisper, don’t talk.