So, we're not going to be personal or anything, because we don't do virtual personal.

And indeed, we, it is not just she.
We,
(that means more than one, even more than 2).
There's three of us.

Let's be mysterious. Like the kind of thinkin when the sky is purple with rumble clouds or when the toaster smokes like a smokestack or when you have foggy glasses on a clear night.
It seems that the only sense in this fragmented discussion of brains that storm has been somehow misplaced and covered up with an off-tone foundation...the kind that you dab on with those little triangle foam squares you or your grama have in your bathroom top drawer...only the coffee had turned too cold to drink days ago, so now its time to turn off the stove top before you forget and then accidentally leave the house unlocked, but in a hazardous state.
Who decides, anyways, how much mint is jammed into the center of a schokomint...if only there were mint in the center...fearful. Its schoko jammed in there. Mistakes sometimes seem to cover this blasted cover of my book titled 'the sunny shone through you last time too'.
Sometimes they say that our rapid fire button pushing is pushing the limits. And somehow.
We could agree.
We three.

There has been nothing else. No storming kopfs. Kein kopfs left.
All spilled out before the scene above.

Nice and tidy-like.

Is that mysterious enough?

(the artwork above has been produced in cooperation by Kara, Kerry, and Breanne)...we threee.