Tried this before

Tried this before.

It didn’t work.

Don’t know why, probably writing in here takes up a lot of time. Thinking loud. And thinking of what people might think. But that wasn’t this for. I’m not writing this for you, sorry kids, ur not that special. Not that I don’t like you, ; its just I don’t know u that well. This is for me, to make it easy on my poor self . I think too much. Too critical over things that need not be. Trying to get it right. To let the story runs as it happened. Criticality sometimes cripple the end; which is to tell the story. But not this time. Not in here. However you read this out to be, just be forewarned; as everything else in life is, this may not what is seems to be. Among these words, some are real, and some are make-believe. It’s the classic art imitating life imitating art kinda thing. Or is it life pretending to be art pretending to be life? Whatever. This is such a bore.

And so I’m back here. In this infinite world, a white landscape with green grids as far as the eye can see, claiming a piece of cyber estate as my very own. And then some. The first time is always difficult. Even the second first time. Or third, but whose counting anyhow. There’s the anticipation of how it turns out to be. The butterflies turning into bats in your stomach. The calm before the storm. How the aftertaste gonna felt afterwards. How is the other person, the one staring, immersing in your thoughts and mind is receiving a piece of you. Worrying that the person won’t approve, or displease on your performance, or that she … wouldn’t ask was it good for you as it was for her? Will her mind still be reading you while she drove to home late from the office? will your words re-verberate in her mind as she pulls up in front of the porch? Or wheter will she blush and smile remembering you just as she woke up the next day? Will she be humming your words in the shower? Will she share you with her girlfriends like a big secret she can’t wait to tell? Will your words ran like wise advice or some juicy softporn novel or worst, crappy mumblings from someone too old that she couldn’t even finish?. Not that it mattered. And yet it bemusingly, even after millions of words, it still felt as it was the first. Again.

So here we go.