"We will live forever, and our days are slow and dear..."

Well, perhaps not slow. Incredibly fast, in fact. It reminds me of long train rides, noticing the contradiction of stillness internally and speed externally.

I'm in a quiet space, a waiting, but I haven't a clue for what. It's so hard not to just hurtle on with the days letting the landscapes, both inner and outer speed by in bluegreengreybrown blurs. Still I try to keep aware that that one glance out the window I don't take will be the one I never see.

"This year April had a blizzard, just to say she didn't care, and the new dead leaves they made the trees look like children with grey hair."

I feel alittle unsettled, off-track, which isn't unusual for me, honestly. In a sense, that's a good thing because I'm sensitive to it, and catch myself before the train slips off the track entirely.

My skin feels thin, permeable, open. The sky feels too wide, heavy, thick, with long fingers reaching for me, and no shelter. Electricity in the air, tiny sparks reminding me of the road I must be on.

"You can't deny this room will keep you warm, you can look out your window at the storm."

Jade