I kept a diary. I didn't really think of it that way... I think... or I don't think... but that's what it was. It wasn't supposed to be a record of my existence. Am I typing this?
Reading. Or staring at words. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes I drift apart. I wrote down who I was, when I was now. Here. No compass, but sort of a map in the letters. The more I read, the more I can read. The pieces of me are schattered, but sometimes they look the same direction at once, and I understand again. I am again. Does reading help that?
Crystal is bringing me food. I know those concepts, for here. For now. Eat. And then stare at the screen again, until the letters become words.
It's slow.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave comments; it lets me know that people are actually reading my blog. Interesting tangents and topic drift just add flavor. Linking to your own stuff is fine, as long as it's at least loosely relevant. Be civil, and have fun!