What comes from a wandering mind
Open. Close. Yes. No. Flickering light from the television, a hint of Greek music. Faint whispers, suggestions late at night on a dark street somewhere in San Francisco. The air heavy with the smell of the ocean, pungent and beautiful and deep and mysterious. Dangerous dates with myself on the couch, a blank white space and some keys and a blinking cursor. Timid thoughts drawn away from those glittering Californian sidewalks by the persistent, rhythmic though sometimes halting tap-tap-tap. It has been so long, I murmur, that my fingers don’t know where to land. My thoughts wander again to the lights and smells and chaos of the city, causing me to doubt all the intentions with which I started.
Open. Close. Yes. No. Stupid blinking cursor taunting me. Stupid blank space begging to be filled. Stupid words, stupid nightdreams, stupid nights encroaching on my solitude.