You’re a blank page and I am a jammed pen.
Every morning I wake up with possibilities and minutes visualized in seconds telling me there’s time to conquer the world. Then my brain freezes. So many thoughts get caught in a traffic jam on the platform of my imagination and I stop. Moving. Time slows. I stare into an abyss of darkened windows and closed doors and I cry into the future I cannot see. Yet. No tears, just bewilderment. Joy in the beauty of spontaneity.
My mind is full of locomotive trains pulling thoughts instead of cargo,
Fumes building into my collective subconscious until the day’s reached it’s end, and I can breathe.
Some weeks take a really long time to reach Friday.
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