|crave|

arms and hands

clutching at

the soft presence

of a pillow

in the dark;

wrapping themselves

tightly about it

in the absence

of the warmth

they crave.

(day one hundred and forty two)

Sometimes, the only thing you crave is a hole in the ground. Not in the melodramatic sense, craving death and an end because life proved too hard- rather, as a refuge. Cool and firm, it will shelter you from stress and anxiety; it waits, ready to swallow you whole and caress you until the end. All light, all sound, all manner of folly and trivial nonsense – gone. Just you in the dark, left to finally approach yourself as you always should have. Sometimes, it takes being buried to come alive.

Life has been a hurricane the last few weeks. I’m not sure I know up from down or left from right anymore.

People are coming, and I guess people are going.

That is how it works, though it doesn’t make me happy about it.

I know what I want, but I’m not sure what I am doing.

At least it’s progress, right?

Change is coming.

In large amounts.

 Viens avec moi?

xx