- Books, Literature, and Writing
Eventually you bethink the unsteadiness of identity and ever rule your own as center importance in life. There is no one else that loiters, first order or has there always been another? Not in single station pleasing others while there is fading monochrome. The minutes of recollecting anguish, pinching the conscious when it is quietest in your head counting on faithful interruptions; Rushing conversations awakening as there is too much going at once…usually but not today. Today is cargo for self contusions from dregs of self infliction attached with secondary characters causing one to shudder at mention of restoration?
Enter those before hand with no consideration, no one braced to catch you but today remembering solitary on this floor; (No one has given last crumbs like mama). That woman would go to her resting place before a sliver of deception. Recall wanting someone to return full price of their being, comparable to having been spent on a certain amount of nature. Asking questions while addressing none have the talent for “taking it to the river” the way you have. It injures because now you’re in contemplation from the top of the stairs again…but you hesitate realizing this time, “I am going to walk attentively with each step.” This time I’m going to wrap my arms around me; become a presence in the room.