yes, it is late. a while ago i seemed to know it all, now i seem to know nothing. perhaps i am just tired after a long day and a few distractions. i fear getting distracted. tell me, what is this thing with fear? why does it keep on returning?
i am tired of remembering, and i am tired of so much that seems remote, foreign and about to be forgotten! i am tired!
i am even tired of you and all that we have gone through. i am tired of your wisdom, and i am even more tired of mine. i am tired!
i watched myself today being bored, curious, patient, indifferent, amused, and jealous. i thought that jealousy was something that i would never know... yet today your words was what i was jealous of. i want your words, i want your mind, i want your understanding. i do wonder if i am all that interested in the carcass that carries your body?
i was even charming and bold, i miss the stage. i miss the acting, and i miss the playwright! if it is not when i write that i exist, then it is when i act. why is it that i only exist when i write, when i speak or when i move? what happens when i sleep?
