Those little things

We have our own dramas like everyone else. But they're not like everyone else's. No, we have our own little dramas. It's not that they're from little things, and it's not that they're  from unimportant things. No, it's just that they're little dramas. They aren't loud, they aren't spoken (sometimes). They are our own little dramas that never grow to become something, somehow. They originate, slowly become baby things and then they just tingle and disturbe like a pebble on the heart. Then, the little pebbles start to dissolve, the go into the blood, into the skin, out in the sweat. They evaporate in the air leaving a strange fragance behind. These little things that start as nothing and end as nothing... sometimes, very few times... they leave a mark. A mark that sometimes itches. Those are our own little dramas. Those are.