Monday, January 22, 2007
Strange how small, microscopic specks consume so much. They ravage all joy available and leave behind frustration and worry like dung from a wild animal. As we starve for happiness, I fear we will become cannibals, turning on eachother. I look to the sky for something good to happen; for provisions on a parachute but it seems as if that plane has passed us by.
Posted by Grace Lin at 6:52 PM