je ne peux pas traduire mon cerveau

something small wants to be written about how the snow sparkles in front of my feet falling under the streetlights at whatever dark o'clock it is currently, but my brain is so tired. 

maybe i'm trying too hard. 

mightn't i ought to make a cup of tea and have done with it? watch the snow fall from under the duvet?

i'm just a little lost, is all. 

nothing a little je ne sais pas can't fix. 

that's the problem, though, isn't it? je ne peux pas réparer ce que je ne sais pas.
i can't fix what i don't know. 

donc je ne suis rien.