Brownness

Words

were my friends but now look at me as a defeated stranger.  What was once a river is now a dry stream of pointless self-doubt and whiny pain.  I wonder did I desert them or did they escape my melodramatic life? Answers used to be appear unthinkingly, now I am just left with long questions.  It is not my first post on this subject and wont be my last.  They are my shadow, and until forced down into a physical form, my life is a blur of seconds and hours of pretended thought.  Its like a hole needs to overflow in me before I can spit out a few gobs of high minded but meaningless thoughts.  You know the feeling, it sure looks good but who cares if it works.  A philosophy quite well suited in my world. 

The recent years have multiplied in experiences and interactions, but the need to document decrease perhaps because there isnt anything real to show.  They are like dreams, best remembered upon wakeing and soon forgotten and then reminsced about randomly as something sets off the memory.  But nothing concrete because that would mean its reality. 

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