Three Years.

Three years. I’d be joining Nursery school would have joined Nursery School today. I can almost hear myself sing all the nursery rhymes. I can almost feel myself sharing all my fancy day 1 food. Have been a giver since day 1, literally.

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Approximately three years ago I moved on from Blogger to the fancier sister WordPress. And like they say, “the rest has been quite a story.”

I’ve made buddies, lost some *those that feel like you almost wrote about them, almost kissed and told, yet it was just imagination triggered by a moment some time back.

I’ve written nice pieces and better pieces, I’ve procrastinated once too much, I’ve been hit by the block. I’ve got past the 300 Follower Mark. I take pleasure in knowing that I can share with a number that big. And humbled for most read, and some reply, comment.

I pray and hope, even promise to write more. To be bolder, to swim beyond the reef and to write more. I promise to try to be Me.

 

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Fonts and Lanes.

I was absent minded, and I believe I heard her ask;
“Are we on the same page?”
I must have replied “Yes we are,” much as I couldn’t remember muttering it out.
Here I was lost in thought again;

On the same page! Really? Yes, but only in a different font.
Perhaps the same typeface, but stull different fonts.

I’m a Times New Roman, you might be a Times Old Roman.
By your skirts, I can see you and Ma have a lot in common.

They say I’m italicised, and I know you’re not.
I don’t know what they mean but I sure know you’re not what they mean.

In fact I’m ultra-light and you’re extra bold.
See, I’m compressed, condensed and you’re wide, extended.
I’m more like a caption to your poster.

I’m Grotesque, you are not.
You’re Antiqua, I’m not.
I’m who you aren’t. Never will be.

I’m sans-serif, you are all things serif.
I always hated strokes anyway. Elongated and clumsy they are.

I’m underlined, you’re striked-through.
Yes there’s a thin line between us, but it’s more through you and under me.

I’m a super-script, you’re an under-script.
See we aren’t even on the same line.

I’m more like a Webding and you, a Goudy Stout.
We might be on the same page but we aren’t the same.

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Do you know your fonts? Neither do I.
Do you know your lane? Neither do I.
We all live on the same page, or do we?