Ohhh, if I could make sense of it all.

An ironicaly sea-foam green bottle bobbing on the frothy waves of a dream. Inside the bottle, a message scribbled in a rare moment of clarity: Don't have much time (I never know when I'll change back). Call for help. I need motivation to get me off this island. Where do I find it? How do I make it mine? Oh no, I'm going back...

The English language is a labryinth Sometimes, I like to think I've found my way into a deeper chamber than I really have.

While we were young and growing up, the sun was old and going down. As we danced the tango 'round and 'round each other and side-stepped our obligations, the daylight grew fainter and the twighlight grew ever the more radiant. Somewhere between the first slow dance and the second Electric Slide, the sun shattered, leaving behind a million radiant stars: one for each moment that we let slip through our fingers.

Kelly hold your water tight.

Comebacks are always hard, whomever said they were glorious has obvious never gone away and then tried to come back. I write my last high school English paper tonight. Here's to hoping for an 'A.'