It was Eve Of New Years 23.

I hadn’t made it out of bed.

All attention on the internet.

Reveiwing “Things I Wish I Said.”

In hindsight sometimes, I remember.

All those things I wrote.

There are dozens must be thousands.

Searching for that tattoo guote.

Many ways to tell a story.

Some good and some are not.

Things are not as they appear.

Is the only worthy plot.