Little Things

Verily, I stand, unnerved by the facts that confronts me, appearing right beneath my ids almost without warning, without waning. I speak, but of little things, of soft pings, and yet the echoing prattles doubled in volumes. In fumes, I lay low, stay in the know, while in the burrows of hurts, one borrows words to accuse one, abusing none. Time defeats me, eats me, before feeding my tweets into the cruel world that has begun to realize it's own demise. I am not where I want to be. I am where I'm meant to be. So here, verily.

Our online presence has to be more than just a simple definition of instagramming eyes, tweeting mouths and facebooking covers of ego trips. We have not arrived, you foursquared maniac! Not yet!