It's night, and once again all I want to do is write. Hubh, so many words I want to use but nothing real direct to say. It's because life is so easily interpreted in so many ways. I mean, so many people are just so eager to be different that we deny the things that make us all the same. See, there is this idea that pops in my head whenever I write or talk, blog, whatever. The thought is that I can't speak for everyone, which means I can't speak to everyone.
My own personal Babel. I should probably pick a language and stick to it.
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