There's a light in the window, but it's still light outside. The sea gulls move in an awkward flight pattern, more than usual, but it seems so reoccurring I don't notice it. Some type of floating premonition.
Isolated and reclusive isn't exactly where I am, but it is a pathway that I've been following, running away but finding comfort in the act of running.
People chase me, jobs, girls, family, dogs. I enjoy the run, a constant craving and longing for something I won't find. Re-learning and re-associating how to talk and speak, the sidewalk moves along with me. There must be something other than that I can tell, because everyone I know that's dead still resound in my head.
It's not at all good, not all bad, sometimes to refresh myself I talk to a mirror, but it's jumbled and choppy, no story of plot. Like this, my head is scrabbled and as gratuitous as I can be for meeting beautiful people, I move away, let it sting, but wish I could do it again.
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