Typot!

A visceral discharge, lamenting the passing away of something which was once so dear. But with the passage of time, travelling great distances, bides adieu, creating an emptiness, a void which would be replaced by another one of it's kind.

Thou might be brown, thou might be yellow,
In a sturdy state, or might be mellowed,
O Ye old fellow, eternal is thy name,
For without thee, nothing would ever be the same!!

!TIHS


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Write? Right!!

To write is to create, to give birth to something, to procreate, to unwrap another one of those infinite layers which masks you from your ownself.

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