Nov 27, 2020
In my way my head is concrete. Everyday the goal is to bulldoze its internity and its external captivated state. The highs of my happiness are starting to haze entering its hiatus. Every second is a sense of change in this dimension that I cannot control and I would like to run away relieving my bare feet into the moist soil. To be baptized and soaked into religious refreshment. Is that too optimistic? What is optimism here. It’s muddled. It must be a problem with me. It must be hormonal. It must be something I will never understand. It makes me want to peel off my skin and search for those without leather.
