Philosophical cow dung on the life of little Ms. Imperfectly Fine.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I imagine a shadow following my every step, slowly sucking and feeding upon my flesh, wishing to become whole. One day she'll wear my face, sing my songs, pretending to be me. But she will never be me. Even when there's not enough of me to sustain her existence, and she will find some other victim to leech on, she will always be a shadow without a shadow of her own. She will always be a shadow, wishing to become whole.