My Father, The Dreamer
He’s probably leaning on the doorframe… waiting for us to come home.
There’s a Water Stain on the Ceiling
In which pessimism pays me a visit and I fail at writing.
The title was, like, a spur-of-the-moment thing. So don’t ask.
-dundundundun-
Honestly, I dunno what the hell I’m supposed to put in here, but since I decided to write (type) this, I guess should make this… what? Bearable? Worth your precious reading time? Yeah…
I bet you’re thinking I have a dry sense of humor and that I should go shove some ice cubes down my throat for being un-funny. And I suppose I should comply to your demands, but then, I won’t. I’m tired and I seriously want to sleep. Got no time to go downstairs, open the fridge and get some ice.
Why am I typing this? I don’t know. Maybe I’m a masochist? Nah.
I won’t even ask if this is worth your time… Feel free to leave a comment (assuming that anyone even reads this crap).
P.S. BE WARNED: Content includes random stuff, poems, stories and probably mind-numbing opinions about the world and everything else in it. Not guaranteed to be good for your brain.
Ciao. :3