While reading my past blogs and writing, I have come to discover that my last journal was written exactly one year ago. My expected midnight thought brought by my energized nostalgia, heart ache from my sad clouds, anxieties for being unemployed and the interaction of humans inside the neighborhood were all written exactly one year ago.
The story is about a town, a murder, of a boy who… NO! this is not the story that will set you in a dramatic zone. Drafting this is such a difficult thing for me. My fortune to everything was creeping me out… Earlier I woke up, usual morning, I drafted a note and finished it by noon, ready to share and voila! It was corrupted. As much as I want to retell what my previous text was, I get frustrated. So let me tell you things that include my freaking corrupted file.