I've had a strange feeling lately. The one where the sound of a song puts a knot in the back of your throat, that you can't explain. Like something you heard hit a chord.
I used to come here for comfort. In the past my life felt like a series of books I shut 1/2 way through because the characters were too boring or the plot didn't sit right. You know it won't end well.
It's no surprise that pencils with intact erasers were a commodity when I was young. Turns out there aren't enough erasers around to fix the world's problems. If only we were better artists, writers, mathematicians... Is it wrong to hope your laundry will come out brighter in the wash this time?