The wood grain happens to be the chosen foundation of the tobacco stains.
The crack in my windshield is just big enough to see around.
And I’ll take the long way home, but you’ll never know why.
I get a little skittish around those tight corners sometimes.
And after the water starts to settle down, I can’t get a grasp on the asphalt anymore.
Next to the old Amtrak station, I take a walk outside and I think I see -
A flash of my headlights show the illumination that I’ve spent my remaining time left writing words that will only live as long as they’ve been scrutinized.
Good thing that’s what we do in-between.
Isn’t that what matters, even if it’s a dash?
So I’m just gonna keep searching even though I know I’ll always end up on the starting line.
The beauty of ideation lies in the most simple parts of the night sky.
Sometimes, I sleep while talking.
Sometimes, I sleepwalk often.
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