The desert is vast and familiar. Comfortingly bleak. I can walk forever without a care or worry in the world. Engulfed and swallowed by my thoughts amid dust, bleach, and bone.
A manufactured whirlwind takes the shape of a voice I don't know. It is kindly and anonymous. It whispers something of nothing with the strength of both months, and of years. I hear my reflection in this pattern of moving sands. A most needed drink of self-substantiation in this tranquil wasteland.
My relief mutes my choking gratitude.
Given freely, like a coin under a desiccated tongue. Paying for an eternity of visits.
10:18 p.m. - 2014-10-20
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
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