Saturday, August 14, 2010
cannot think.
I cannot think of a better time to write. I cannot think of a more lonely table, a more far away feeling... Getting a nicotine buzz just from breathing the air beneath my nose. They're not coming anymore. Delicate, weighted eyelids shut out the burn but not the night. There are too many lights, colors and colors of light... I can't even feel my fingertips anymore, but they're not coming anymore.
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1 comment:
Your blog needs to be renamed; your musings far more poetry than the pedestrian comments typical of most sites. You always make me think, you sometimes make me sad, and sometimes what you say gives me that echo-in-the-heart ache I experience when I hear Debussy's "Beau Soir."
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