silence

Sometimes it's hard to explain things to people because they have a whole ocean in a spout of expectations about you and their relationship with you. If you bring them closer to you the sky will rain fish.


Daytimes are barren, and full of empty promises. I am still here, nothing.


I could tell you trivia instead, to shadow myself. But even trivia is so hard.

I knew for a long while now, that I cannot write fiction. I tried that as a kid, on my parents' office computers and typewriters. My stories were boring, grammar passable, sentence structure too overly short-factual. I tried as a teen; I couldn't write anything that wasn't a personal experience, nor anything overly detailed in recounting.


I discover I can only write reflective essays and such, which is boring, and does not count for much writing. There is nothing to write about, if I have nothing going on in me.

I'm afraid that if I fall asleep, tomorrow might come.

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slinky

I could watch the cat sleep for a long time.


Paws and face tucked underneath herself, not even a straying nearby sound stirs her.


I sit and watch. Somehow life seems fine.

My house is like a war zone, and so my heart.