Fantine

Time is gold, and I'm not going to waste anyone's time, including mine. Shadows of the loaf-bringer man are becoming more evident, and I'm not going to fall for another moral disorder. If I'm feeling this unwanted now, in ten year's time, I could end up wallowing in the same disgust in front of the dining table, only in the limelight. They say that habits form a person, and I don't think I'd want to habitually want to feel this insignificant, this parcel of something that can be included. For god's sake, I used to be a star in another's window of meaning, and I let it go. I could have been a masochist for so long, I don't remember the last time it felt good having to write as honestly as I can. They say shit happens, but when the doggie shits, it's probably diarrhea.