5-7-25 I am quiet ambient music that makes a boring desk job more tolerable; I am inexplicable ontological lack, and all sorts of questions that aren't made up of words, but just feelings; I am urban decay, peeling back the industrial facade to reveal something real that never really went away; I am shyness, dirty shoes, the same old coat with pills and pulled threads; I am writing in a journal when it's all quiet, save for the house's settling groan; I am looking out into the snow from a small window over coffee, landlord special paint job spilling onto the panes; I am sitting alone on the grass and feeling the wind as the birds fly by, and crying because I don't feel this free all of the time; I am running whenever things get difficult because I don't know who I am supposed to be; I am feeling strange when people say things are simple; I am barely happening when things are strange. I am 27 today. 10-16-24 "One has only learnt to get the better of words/ For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which/ One is no longer disposed to say it." - from East Coker by T.S. Eliot