Royals OK w me. Unfortunately, I am a girl.

A new story is on its way.

What's most noble probably is to remain in a place, absorb and chronicle it. To leave of course for a time for the sake of inner expansion mostly in service to comparison, so only to return home and better chronicle.

The story of my life may be a paradox of oscillating neuroticisms, each their thousand directions reaching into expanse without obstacle. I felt perfectly inconsequential in every scenario despite the realities of them. Declining approaches then lamenting my allocation to the fringes. A youth of gazing at and analysing groups deciphering why they thrived or fought with particular attention paid to the admittance of what I deemed as outliers. Idealising a day they'd let me into some mysterious club without any advancement on my part anyway. It was weird, I was weird. Wrote lists at the end of each term and semester crossed off as another period supercut of social failure. In comparison, my grades; also perishing of no matter. When of legal drinking age and entering the pub my graduating class frequented I was stunned by a sporty tomboy with long brown hair and printed freckles all over. She was surprised to see me, thought I hated everyone. "No..." What a revelation to be seen, seeing.

What a romantic notion, that if he’d held me he could let go.

Sometimes people don't hear what you're saying, because anticipation speaks louder. They decode what isn't cryptic, absorbing not your words but what those sorts might imply.

Oh no the grass was ruined was it aw the fucking grass in Washington not the grass aw no aw won’t anybody thinK OF THE FUCKING GRASS IN WASHINGTON

Sorry blame my sensitive dependence on initial conditions x

No I have changed my mind I want to be mr mole and bury myself underground forever thank you

The messenger is often of more sinister portent than the message.