I don’t know how to do anything. How to read, how to watch television, or even how to sleep. All I seem able to do is lie uncomfortably in a bed kicking off sheets and socks and thrashing at the heat. My brain is sorting ideas and thirsting for images to absorb and words to combine into thoughts. But it’s boring. How? Why?
I've become addicted to words
Moments — There are so many in a single day. Let alone a lifetime. Some euphoric. Some a shit time. Some pure bliss. Others simply are what they are.
Just as fables are always told
I haven't felt my mother's hands for almost 18 years, but here is what I remember...
Monsters are bumps in the night.
the clock rests gently on it's wooden rounded edge,