Identifying the stranger I should know is impossible to do, but my only chance. He should step forward, do his part.
The familiar voice makes me dream. And write. It's a constant presence, the voice. Welcomed.
I elevate the moments worth mentioning. Stick a needle in them and hang them up on the board.
Milk has gone bad in the fridge. Is time in fast forward?
Autumn haze and winter clarity form a beautiful blend. I am searching for that silent spot in my mind. Cars are evil.
Lights dance in front of my window and their routine has no meaning, isn't tied to anything anymore. They have glowed for too long. They have passed decorative or pretty.
The emotional strings stretch far and wide and cover a lot of ground. Swinging on them hand over hand is a tricky task and demands strength. I've done it all my life.
Too many truths in this world make sense. Lies are easier to figure out. Figures.
A house of cards in a hurricane.
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