Silence. A stretch of it from one day to the next month. From one easy day through the complexity of life, the quiet but necessary changes, to the gaping holes of tomorrow. I can address the silence prosaically or not at all. Or I can simply let it stretch and shimmer in the cold morning winter light when the sheets and the body become one uniform, cold piece of decor. Waking up seems hard.
I miss the sunsets and the control that came with them, control over the length of the days, the number of changes that are possible to fit into them. There are days when I worry that I have grown up too much and too beyond unlimited curiosity, and then there are those days when I feel tired. I’ve been sick for so long now that I barely recognize my body without constant joint ache or a spark of tension in my kidneys or at least a touch of migraine by the time the sun reflects the sea in the city buildings. It’s time to go home. It’s time to make this place a home.
Music as of late: Drake – Hotline Bling