This is not REAL

So much writing I have to do for studies leaves me with little mojo to summon up the material worthy of a rant… so all quiet on the Western front.

Getting older in the body. Younger in the mind. Spirit not subject to time. There’s a point to all this decay and misery… just keep telling yourself that… get to the next stop.

I was once free, never trapped… there was always an option, a path to fleeting moments of happiness.

Paths close, bridges get burnt. Options become limited.

Still at least I can walk the rough streets day or night and don’t fear the strange or the familiar. The world are my people. Love em or hate em.

These are my thoughts, useless as the cyberspace I inscribe them in.