Twenty-7

27 dresses and a humiliated woman. Excuses that explain nothing and I'm baffled at why I continue to care for fairy book characters that never had a fairing chance. Sense is something I know nothing of. I prefer paper as opposed to this way of electronics but part of me thinks some how someone, somewhere will hear the things I say. But maybe that's a time for a fifteen minutes whose home does not belong to me. In the end when all things are said and done is that something I'll truly give a flying fuck about? Time tells thousands.