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The day is overcast, heavy saturated grey clouds drag about the horizon. Wind in my face and ash in my hair and somedays I feel everything too much and some days I don't think I feel at all and right now I'm about as empty as can be. Sometimes you just go through the motions of living, mimic actions of an animated character when you are in fact stone. I'll continue to move just because it's what is expected of me. Work will be over soon enough and I'll wait in the corner for the hours to pass and peel the dejected sadness off the walls and tumble into the cool softness of night where I will find new ways of taking myself apart. My actions, my past, my future. I try to pretend that it doesn't matter that I don't know where I'm going as long as I keep moving, but it's all a little death anyway. Here are the wool words spread across the fabric of the walls, here are my hands and everything they have damaged and I don't care if you ever forgive me if I can just find it in me to forgive myself.
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