It could have been a very romantic evening with the gentle cool breeze, a souvenir from the passing showers.
It would almost be perfect to sip hot chamomile/rooibos tea by my window and listen to the 'whish' as the occasional car passes and just let my thoughts wander.
Instead, I'm sitting facing the glare of my monitor and confiding in an imaginary audience, relaying my thoughts on a platform I hope no one reads. This is how it feels to be screaming inside.
Am so lost I'd love to have a 'restart' button to hit. So that I can wipe the slate clean and start again instead of trying to fix what I have. Am so misunderstood I yearn for the one friend that knew me inside out. Where is my advocate when I am silenced by fury?
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