egb419
I thought the word was violet, but it was violent. That changes things. violet is so soft and breezy, perfumes and innocent looking flowers. Add an N in the right place and I see fists and blood and pain and crying and nobody wins. Violent violets?
Wrong is in the eye of the beholder. Say it over and over and I won't change my mind. You're wrong, I'm right. You're wrong I'm right.
Paper or on the bed. Or maybe both. I once saw an art exhibit in which thin sheets of rice paper were slowly dropped from the ceiling of a huge empty warehouse. The exhibit lasted several weeks so by the end, there was paper up to your knees. Everyone walked through it quietly, with only the swish swish swish and crumble of soft paper.
is like a tidal wave. I cannot control it, I know it's coming, can feel that it's coming, about to sweep over me and everyone around me and there seems to be nothing I can do to stop it. I am flooded and overcome by it. Change seems impossible.