I feel inside me is this one person seated on a chair under a ceiling lamp inside a very dark room surrounded by all seven.
So I booted my laptop, powered the electric kettle, and tore a sachet of that vile powdered chemical they call 3-in-1 coffee mix–a disgrace to actual coffee.
If you do not mind my attempt at S. Holmes–through careful and ingenious deduction, my dear Diary, I have come to a very elementary conclusion that these series of Likes and Follows are nothing short of a marketing plot.
Reminds you of a movie crime scene where the detective stares at the victim while holding a cup of joe. Then a police officer approaches him; a notebook in hand. “There was a struggle says one of the witnesses.”
June returned to his senses. Picked up the trash and smiled weakly as he stood back up. He then frowned at the thought that another life had to be taken.
Dear Diary, I have finally decided on a theme for this site and a piece for my debut article. Obviously, the former will revolve around my letters to you along with far-fetched stories that run amok inside the abysmal labyrinth of my mind. Drafting this post has reminded me of a conversation I once had. …