Three Years.

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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.


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.

 

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.


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?