scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


23.1.11
I wonder idly what it sounds like in Pamplona, that day, if it's humid or if dust rises in the streets. If i'm dreaming i think i am floating, not far, not high, but enough. If i'm dreaming i think i can't see, they were right after all, before my eyes are open again, and the moment i blink lasts a lifetime. I am not dreaming.

If i step back i see myself tracing paths, i know how it works, and i breathe deep and go on deliberately, lights on, spin up, sail away. (Godspeed.) I know how it works for me, but then i think i always have. Always, so it's become easy to give, and sweet like an apple in morning. Didn't i say i was lucky?

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scrawled @ 21:48






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