The Terrible Writings of Quentin Montejo
Serial experiments on a fallen archangel who only wanted to regain just one wing back
Life is Short
I have so many photos in my laptop.

Just one bad hard disk and they're all gone. I have a lot of plans for them though. Print them, post them, do effects on them. But in my idle time, I always do something else.

Perhaps I don't have to tell myself I'm at fault. I just do what I would naturally do. Perhaps if left with nothing but the simple things in life, no responsibilities, no duties, no worries, then perhaps I'll begin taking them up. Either that or some intense inspiration knocks on my door. And it's a door caked with cobwebs right now.

I think I'll go knock on a door.
There's this door I want to get in, but it's not open. I can peek at the window, but the curtains are drawn.

There's another door that I can enter freely, but it's sorta dark inside. Yet in a way, it feels so comfortable.

There's a third door that I may be able to come in to, but I think it's not the place I truly want.

I wanted to get back to the first door. It's what I want.

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