witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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If youíre reading this, even if weíve never met, especially if we havenít; I ask for a small favour. A basic shred of evidence, proof, that a perspective beyond my own exists. One that extends further than the limits of the one my mind could ever even dream of stretching across. I get so knotted in the wispy threads of my own thoughts that I canít sift through them long enough to see clearly. Picture slipping your fist inside the fibrous mess of a pumpkin. Its sludge blanketing your hand; like tar oozing through your fingers, its pulp wedged beneath your fingernails. Now imagine never being able to pull your hand up ever again. Even if you struggle long enough to wrestle it free momentarily, itís glazed so thick in the slippery insides of the pumpkin, that your own fist is indistinguishable. So because youíre reading this, because the fabric of time was manipulated for our paths to cross at this very instance, because somewhere, somehow, it was determined that youíd end up here with my words on your lips, leave a note. About everything. About anything. About something. Nothing more, nothing less.

2:10 p.m. - Monday, Dec. 15, 2008

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