Hi.
Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee
There’s a certain kind of smell that only surfaces in early evening. It’s got to be light out, but not so light that you’re comfortable putting one foot in front of the other. It’s got to be warm, not hot, and cool, not cold. There should be leaves on the trees but not so many leaves that you can’t see the shapes scurrying through the branches. Somewhere within walking distance – but out of sight – must be a moderately busy road.
The back of your lover’s neck coaxed out from under the covers, eight hours of untouched time still sticking to it. That’s the smell.
I’m off one drug and onto another. The past week has been exhausting, a bad reaction, a panic attack without the panic. I’ll start the new drug, an SSRI, on Monday, and who knows whether it will help me, or change me, or do anything at all to me, but I’m interested (and a little apprehensive) about the ride.
There’s no one answer to life. But there are evenings where the air smells like old memories, and that’s usually enough.
Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller
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My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.
Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds
Livesay Writing 