A lone reflection for sorrow A life-long mate brings mirth Fledgling foretells a funeral Charming broods a live birth
Personal narratives are something we all construct, even if we choose not to share them.
Today is a day for thinking about doing. Not actually doing. Just lazily reading about it:
Words ramble less widely than thoughts, especially so when thoughts flow in pictures.
Homity pie and loss Poems That Make Grown Men Cry
“Hi, yes… My wife has (a working diagnosis of) Kiss-my-Asperger’s.
A spade’s a spade A twat’s a twat A bullshit-shovelling bureaucrat