This is why sometimes, I fear to write. Stories are never complete. Always, something is happening, something is changing. Things happen which change the whole dynamic; the scope is changed; the context is changed. And, there is that added complication.
People sometimes read this page. Yet, I am unable to provide a cohesive view. The entries are sporadic and inconsistent. Everything is always changing. I could tell you, maybe, a piece of a story today with plans to tell you the rest tomorrow. But, tomorrow things will be different, today's story would be obsolete.
Why not write it anyway? Why not write it here? For, everyone keeps a diary of some sort. And what is the point of writing in a diary if it is not to be read? So, my diary is left here for any who choose to find it.
Still, I wear nothing but apprehension when I sit before the keyboard. As my fingers move across the keyboard, things are changing. While I drift off to sleep and on to dream, others are dreaming, others are waking, the world churns onward with little thought for my stories.
What lies before you are mere snapshots, none pretending to be consistent or up-to-date. Except this one: something has changed; life shifts course, yet again.
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