I'm pretty sure I have zero readers of my blog, so I guess it doesn't matter what I write. Maybe one day someone will chance upon my writing and hopefully see how insane I am. By that time, I doubt my sanity will matter because what they've found is "in the past," and I probably will find some excuse (as Future Andrew) to say how I'm a "different person" or some B.S. like that. I'm pretty sure Future Andrew will be good at B.S. too. It's a trait I doubt any Andrew Past, Present or Future could live without. The three of us need that.
When the stricken heart is home,
And asking to be free,
It wants the world for it to roam,
To feel its liberty.
I don't get what I just wrote,
Just spewed some random shit.
About the girl that I still dote:
I miss her quite a bit.
The delicate, the young,
They cry their way to sleep.
The carols still unsung,
Bearing weights they weep.
But words and verses do not care
of what has lain beneath.
'Tis the beastly nature of the bear
That tears the gentle wreath.
And this last quatrain is for you,
Who sat there for a while.
Not knowing what to do,
You nod your head and smile.
happy three months.
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