l’Anonyme.

I drink coffee an hour or two before bedtime. When I haven’t touched any water, the lethargy which washes over me becomes a convenient sleeping pill substitute.

I do not see shapes and numbers where there are none.

The older I become, the stronger the spirit.

I have wishes, some less extravagant – and others, more superfluous.

I am anonymous, yet I delete more posts than I publish because anxiety can’t tell the difference.

This is suppose to be a journal/diary blog. But then again, I’m suppose to be more than what I am.

Who would read this and like this? Are you reading this? How have you gotten this far without sneering and changing tabs? Do you keep tabs? What year is it? I’m from the past.

Hello. Do you feel the same? Don’t answer that. Who says they don’t have friends, yet they do, even one is more than none. Apparently a lot of people practice gross exaggeration.

I am anonymous and writing my anonymity down. Down. Down.

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