ancient teacups, antique scones

entries reread seem ancient now. they seem as if written by someone else; barely evoking faint memories of what they really mean - all the fancy caterwauling words that seem like intricate henna tattoos on the palms of indian brides. i had so much to let out. my alphabet soup was thick and gravylike. and now, when faced with something new, i am utterly speechless. yet i have been shown such an array of things that sometimes it feels as if i am walking down the street markets in Morocco. With vendors throwing their ware right at my face, my senses are smothered with the spice and music that abounds.