BRiGa

Pardon the metaphor. I find myself like one of those little birds, who's specie is beyond me, and altogether insignificant for the point I'm making. You must know of them, the birds who spend years creating the perfect nest for themselves never content. They spend years agonizing over it, adding to it, changing it, enhancing and augmenting, creating it. Sometimes, they give up for a while, let it fade in their minds. And sometimes they destroy it down to bare nothingness, fed up with the frustration of never being right. Its like I am never content with myself, or who I am. But regardless of how they feel, they know they will be