is, finding something
to write about
isn't. Not that it is
hard -- nothing really can
be that hard, except
maybe for opening a
bottle of beer with bare
hands, and that's why
we have bottle openers.
"What if I write like
a bottle opener?" is what
comes to the youthful mind,
and there seems nothing
better to do as September
comes to its youthful end.
(I hate it when months
die prematurely.) I have
been living in April since
March, and it seems like I
will until next February. So,
let's give April "The Month of
the Year" award -- is there a
point in posthumous awards
though? Only love remains as
beautiful in the posthumous
universe, and I can't give the
scarce love I have to April --
not again. (I can share my French
press coffee with her, which is
real good, which actually means
a lot.) It is 1:00 PM as we're
lead into the miraculous October,
which is not even the eighth month
of the year, which really bothers
me. It deserves at least that much
after all it has given to us,
and not asking back for anything,
not even a cup of coffee. Maybe
that's what brings you the eighth
though, the selfish demands August
seems to always have. Anyways, real
Fall has just started, and I
am looking for someone who can
prove me that you can say the same
thing to the same person perpetually
and not be bored of it. You should,
too -- instead of wasting your
time with this bottle opener.
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