#25

Writing writing writing. It's been my main compulsion today, not to pick up an instrument and belt out words from the bottom of my soul and notes flaming from my fingers, but to write. We can call this a snippet of a story, or we can call this 'blogging', it has structure. It does not follow like a stream of consciousness, and overall it is coherent.

Warm air contacted the cold, resulting in a mist. Footsteps, to a place in which relativity has proven to seem much longer than before. It was empty. Purely empty. Echoes of scarce voices filled the warm artificial atmosphere, primarily asking to vacate the premises and to move to another due to social protocol. Intoxicated by the haze that filled the centre of knowledge, blindly walking there.

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Intermission

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Laying down, the earpiece of song in one ear, unable to achieve the solemn rest so desperately wanted, as the haze poisoned and inflicted bias upon the centre of knowledge. Everything running through slowly, so very slowly, in a moment that felt like forever. Then it ended. Just ended.