islekstlef
Half. A half of a whole. A whole half, a half-glance. Half a cigarette, half a piece of cake. Half a song, half a tune heard from a whistling passerby. Half-hearted smiles, half of my heart. Half of the glow of the moon in the night sky. Half of my days, half wasted away.
Persons. Such a strange word, or so it used to always seem. "Persons." It just didn't seem correct or proper when I was younger, compared to "people." As time passed, the differences in usage became a bit clearer, but the fog of confusion still has yet to completely clear up.
I'm just the reporter. I'm the one who's typing the words, the little black print. I'm not the one living the words. I'm not the one the words are about, the one who's accomplished something, or the one who's done something worthy of being mentioned. I'm not that person. I'm never that person.
I'm just the reporter.
Oh, dilemma. Life is one large dilemma. A dilemma consisting of hundreds of thousands tiny dilemmas. It's seemingly never-ending. Dilemmas are inevitable.
(But they aren't incurable.)