My Cardboard Balcony

It has been a rough week. Personal things, financial troubles, and all that "fun" stuff. I don't want to really go into details (which is funny, given that this is "introspection"), but I am at least looking forward to the official one-year party at my bookstore. So, yeah. Yet another lazily thrown together, brief post in the can. Night, everyone.

Curiosity Killed Her by Belinda Roddie "Is that blood on my shirt?" the dying girl asked.

A viewpoint, refracted, broken up like a kaleidoscope, holds more color than your words. But the spectrum is limited, and there are dozens of more, differently hued rainbows to inspect if you opened your mind a little wider. After all, if you push the door only a crack ajar, no large amount of light is going to sift through. You think you have everything figured out when the galaxies around you are untouched. You haven't seen anything yet.