It’s like drowning in the ocean. Even if I learn to float by some miraculous feat, I’d still be in the vast endless sea. no where to go. no target for ambition. nothing but flowing, restless, salty, bitter sea.
The silence always has it’s opinion.
I’m surprised how many friends I make in the loneliness. There are hundreds of pages un explored. I dare say that I have many more characters to meet. I cannot be the only one disappointed in how they are perceived by the screen.
it’s blue and grey with burst of light that never last long.There’s the masked sunshine of the morning, always promising hope, which carries through out a good deal of the day. as it concludes, I’m afraid to report, it feels much more of taunting with its optimism. Jeering at me through the blinds
smells an awful lot like fermented fruits of crimsons. of laundry and rotten food. of overflowing dumpsters and old ladies who have lost their sense. of dog’s piss killing mint bushes, of new food creations simmering on the stove, of fresh cookies baking and fresh sweat on the brow.
