I can't shed the scorpion shell I've cultivated. Years of routine have carved hard plastic carapace behind my eyes.
Trying to shift gears from lamentation to elation is hard. It leaves me feeling jarred and empty.
I sit alone in the evenings, with a half-full glass of jasmine tea, and let my mind splash in the puddles of tears. They'll dry soon enough.
11:11 p.m. - 2015-07-08
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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