junovane
If I could sum up all that I've created in one word, it would be "backspace". So often I write or draw or paint or compose, and so often it could be something great, but then I hit a low and I see no option but to destroy it. These pieces are lost to time, these pieces which could have been so great. There is no retrieval. And that is the sin of the backspace.
Romance, a topic that eluded me. Romance, something that everybody contemplated, that everybody valued, that still remained a mystery to me. I saw couples of all sorts walk past me, dance, kiss, and I knew nothing of it.
I guess that's what made me so bitter about the whole affair. Which was why it surprised me so much when romance struck a person like me.
The engine whirred to life and with it I felt freedom. I could not perceive at that moment in time exactly where the car would lead me, but I felt, for once, like it didn't matter. As I accelerated past, I felt the eyes of people rest on me in shock, in shame, in fear. And yet, it did not matter to me at all; I was free.