Perhaps there’s a problem with being THAT productive when the lights are on, because it has felt so easy to be numb and motionless when they go off. If I had more to do, maybe I’d have difficulty allowing myself to get dizzy with dark and velvet thoughts.
I adore silence. Nature. The clacking of my keyboard. The spinning of my pen in between my fingers. Not speaking, or attempting to listen and be a part of another's conversation. Just me and my mind--which sometimes backfires--conjuring or conversing within itself.
There's something about the roar in a city that slowly drives you insane. There's a reason why people take vacations, or resort back to the "good ol' days" before houses, and pitch tents. It's nice to be away from it all.
Sitting here, trying to write something, for someone else. I felt a loss. There was a moment. A flailing of my inner monologue.
I've spent all day waiting for the moment that I can get this out of me and it's turning into a waterboarding session. I can't seem to find my footing. No matter how many times I attempt to start a new thought. A million screams to try and decipher. One peeks through.
