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Hello there, um....not really sure what to write on this DarkCopy page. I really am not a great writer whatsoever. Honestly, I need to just write down my thoughts. I gotta say I do have some quite impending thoughts that destroy my imagination. However, that's being unproductive. No matter how impending, a thought is a thought is imagination. And imagination....ugh...I hate that word. It's so taunting. It laughs at me. Everyone wants Imagination. Look I just capitalized it. It wants me to succumb to its mastery. Imagination. It is a brilliant thing.

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Mama Shaw loved her pearls. They laid encased within a jeweled glass box with every other diamond encrusted, gold-plated, silver hooped, brass made trinket. You could see through the box. When the light hits it at the right angle, it lit up like the sun lights up the day. Often times i would stand at the door when she got ready in the evening and watch her carefully take out one delicate item at a time and set it out on her vanity which was covered in oxblood suede. She said it was better for the jewelry. I believe her. One time about 3 and a half years ago, she was getting ready for a night out with her friends. Her dress was ivory, her hair done up in a chignon. The glass pearls were going to be perfect. Now they weren't your ordinary glass pearls. They were actual glass beads crafted to look like pale pearls. They were my favorite. Whenever Mama Shaw wore them they made her face glow and her cheeks always appeared much rosier than usual. I guess they were her favorite too.
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