Writer (ok, "author" if I must be civilized) - microblog to microbook - sharing my fictional life of digital dating after divorce as a single mom of tween
FB creates a land of indiscriminate lust to own another's wall. You may do it and not even know. Pressuring a date to make a match. It is beyond my reason we should be friends on FB while dating so you can post & check-in & "relationship status" our relations to death.
An hour ago, maybe two, I cried. For ten seconds. You knew me as decisive and this was no different. I would not wait for you to decide for me. The decision, my voice, is my own.
(MRDii) I saw myself in pictures happy and beautiful so much I ignored how I felt where I could not see inside of me. My heart was chained and my intentions robust still I somehow succumbed to your lust.
@AuthorEHNight Your only obstacle is you. There are 7.7 billion people in the world and yet room for us all. Authorship gives you instant support (unless you choose the naysayer side). You will never stand out being silent. Write!
Are you sad? A little glum? Perhaps simply ignoring me some. Since I started with "let me answer in my own voice" my text has remained unnotified. (Can I make that a new word?"
Two days ago at this same time, a voice in my head boldly said, "You have been activated." Google regurgitated some eagle eye sh!t that meant nothing. I'm standing to write to convince myself of the exercise that beckons from the gym to counteract those stuck inside spy pizzas.
I took a bath and tried to drown my sorrows down the drain. It's too cold outside, I stay in doors, minute /my-noot/ diversions to boredom and his selfish introversion. I talk to walls that talk back in unassuming chills while the pet stares intently in the same spot I converse.
Doom sounds rather devastating. Perhaps "In my own voice I decide what looms. Whatever it is needs "oom" on the end. No idea why I like the sound of that. Stoke the fume. Consume. Room. Bloom.