it's cold. the wind is sneaking in and down my collar. it's raining. the street lights are split-personalities with the runnels down the window. there are layers of stress stretching themselves across my passage through time. thin, delicate layers, transparent layers, skeins that cannot stop me, and yet they grow, and keep growing, and the world is getting heavier. one day at a time.
How can it be cold and wet down there when it's cold and wet up here? That is not natural.
ReplyDeleteand we disapear in small increments
ReplyDeleteand we disapear in small increments
ReplyDeleteThis is Melbourne, David. Four seasons in one day.
ReplyDeleteThat's a truth, Mariana. Grains of sand.