Failing Words

In spite of the somewhat bad week, it hasn't prostrated me.
But words, my supposedly best of friends, has left its seat in the train of my thoughts.
I fear my wit and wisdom will soon follow, for I have not much of either.
I do dare own that I have neither beauty nor intelligence, neither talent nor grace, gift nor virtue.
I am, in short, nothing but an empty shell with a soul that thirsts for the next interesting and new thing.
So what is this empty shell going to ramble about this week?
What about the tingling feeling I have running down my spine?

It's been going on for a while and it's always when I'm reading anything that involves a burst of feelings, especially the one so famously colored pink.
At first, I thought that it might have been the lack and want of the feeling.
Oh how wrong was I.
It's fear, not lust.
Deep mortification if you may.

It is odd, isn't it?
Females aren't supposed to have these feelings, do they?
They're supposed to embrace these feelings, fawn over it and then dissolve into a puddle over it.
However, my hair stands on their very ends, an unearthly chill runs down my spine and my mind is a blank.
I shan't change any of it, for change shall eradicate the sole tiny happiness that wicked Life allows me.

For now, indifference and melancholy shall be my companions.