I’ve been spending a pretty uneventful summer break at home. I don’t like staying here all day and I don’t like to have too much time to kill but most of all I detest having nowhere to go to every morning. I sleep for long and I think about death, about life and life’s triviality. I yearn and I pine but my feet are cold, frozen. I don’t move. I think about love. Love that’s lost, love that we would love to talk about because we have nothing else to do, but we cannot articulate it. Just a bunch of words we put together to make some sense, but don't. Life that we are bound to, and the hours we keep running from but cannot. Cannot escape. The Hours. Insipid and unstimulating. Blown off in smoke.
A very good friend of mine leaves for another city tomorrow morning. She’ll be gone for a year. I’m going to miss her.