I dream about tachycardia in the early afternoons. Disappointment pumped through my veins at One Hundred and Fifty BPM. There's an undecorated box in the other room. Packed full of gifts, carefully selected over the past year. Undelivered. I pay a hefty tithe into electronic hands as a way of well-wishing. My reward isn't just silence, but the revoking of benevolent voyeurism. I'm seized by a sudden and intense urge to meditate. The hope is to drain my swelling heart abscess. That's a good response to have, right? It doesn't matter. My mind chops the situation up into a hundred different permutations to try and find a puzzle-layout that fits into my broken head. It can't, because the solution requires two. And one player declines to play. The box gets moved into the closet, indefinitely. Unopened. One thousand apologies crammed into gifts that only have meaning within the story inside my own head. I'm sorry.
11:11 p.m. - 2018-12-25
Recent entries:
Late, and Then Never - 2019-01-17
Ending in Chills - 2019-01-17
Another Position - 2019-01-07
A Year and Some Change - 2019-01-07
Shooting Off - 2018-12-31
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea