My room is a mess.
Well it’s not as bad as some rooms but it is still pretty messy. On my left there is my desk, which is made of metal ( – well the frame is) and safety glass (the shelvey parts – I wanted to specifically mention that since when I got it I always wondered if it meant safety glass as in the kind that would protect me from bullets – if so, genius! pretty cool huh?)
A man was walking through the marketplace one afternoon when, just as the muezzin began the call to prayer, his eye fell on a woman's back. She was strangely attractive, though dressed in fulsome black, a veil over head and face, and she now turned to him as if somehow conscious of his over-lingering regard, and gave him a slight but meaningful nod before she rounded the corner into the lane of silk sellers. As if struck by a bolt from heaven, the man was at once drawn, his heart a prisoner of that look, forever. In vain he struggled with his heart, offering it one sound reason after another to go his way, wasn't it time to pray? but it was finished: there was nothing but to follow.
This is going to be a little short for a handful of reasons.
1) My sister (I seem to always mention at least one of them don’t I? Hmm), anyway uhkti is waiting downstairs for me to sit with her while we um basically surround ourselves with each others company. We feed off each other's presence - ooh sounds Carnivorous.
2) I feel like I need to do something important and need time to think about what it is.
3) I want to pray Isha early-ish.
4) I’m a little ZzZed out from work.
Anywayyy!
When I was younger, my sister called me into the kitchen and held a small purple tin in her hands. I think I could read, or maybe it was just that I recognised the sign. Cadbury’s. No that just sounded good. I could definitely read. I've always been a reader.
She smiled at me lovingly and asked if I wanted to smell something. I was pretty indifferent to be honest and probably shrugged or something, she took that as a yes and lifted off the lid.
As she did, I caught a quick whiff but she prompts me to smell the fine dark brown power inside, properly. Cocoa Powder. The smell rushed to my nose, it seeped through the air instantly and alerted my senses.
Im pretty sure thats a shoe he's holding, and have you seen the planes?
Aaah..finally, the stickman converted. 
The title is a little misleading if I’m perfectly honest. But we’ll (by that I use myself in third person) discuss it anyway.
Have you ever felt the need to say something over and over because you can’t get over it? I have (all the time really). So today during a little texting conversation that I have going, I mentioned something that, on the one hand I wanted to but on the other I wanted to keep it hidden. Now this thing that I said was actually something of my own. It was my secret (if you could call it that). I think that the people who shared this ‘secret’ or rather ‘thing’ with me all understood it to different levels.
