And a shoulder to weep on, and an ear that is secretly muffed so that when I rant and rage about incoherency

and my own inadequacy,

you won’t have to hear it, only hand the chocolate block by block and murmur empathic I knows…


because this is what second-hand stress feels like, and friendship is strengthened by the power to complain

about my really awful day

about my terrible procrastination, and the future-deciding decisions I have yet to make

and the choice – the choice that we long for! yet which I could loath right now


I longed for eloquence, but it departed long ago – my head is filled with, like, stuff and things and those, watchamacallits? And there are

no words

proper words

left, they have all fled, ashamed to be in the vicinity of the growing pile of nothings and the

I dunno


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