I recorded noticeably only part of yesterday's night. Silence ripped in few places by ambulances and random cats.
Somehow everything diluted and dissolved into today, extra sound of passing train, conversations.
Silence.
Silence or just solitude. Either way, I'm losing days, silently.
I'm reading again. My reading it's about locking myself inside, its not about reading a novel. For a longer while caught myself on flipping pages, senseless, and it's not because I know this novel very well. I'm just thinking way too much about nothing or more like I'm focused on silence inside me. Celebrating blank darkish zones of my mind. Oh how beautiful and ugly nothing is there.
So comforting after turbulence of fears and stormy thoughts of this what passing and this what I Could If I Would, and howling What's Next and lurking What Now.
I am officially a lazy coward. I lost Everything What Is Me long time ago (self righteous statement - I could debate on that with myself) , I'm crawling down here waiting for hands to lift me up, and I know that only arms able to lift this heavy ME, from the bottoms, only arms able to lift this heavy ME are mine own arms. My own arms.
But I'm still waiting.
I want to experiment. I won't wait, I'll try to change. From now on.
...I'll do the laundry now. It's a good start.
I'm prepared to lose another couple of days before Sunday or Saturday. This just in case, if I fail.
