It's rolls right off like rain down my cheeks. It feels like breathing for the first time. What I'm describing I do not feel. But it's out. How old are my friends? How old are my enemies? When are their birthdays and how have they grown? I couldn't tell you any of that at any moment. Age has slipped the wrinkles of my mind and experience is only remembered in my dreams. When I think about what I have I can only think of what I've thrown out. My exhaustion caused by my retirements so early in the day because I don't desire to contemplate. My mind feels like a yarn ball, some how it is organized but to get to the core, the essence that I need to know, I have to dig through a constant mess. Time is no long part of my life, time has no importance to me as I am. I shovel to find something to hold me, to catch me, but I'm left with only dirt. My mom is grateful, but I'm in a type of despair without my knowledge. I am unaware of myself, and will remain so. I am not grateful. Individual loss is of no weight, but the general term and process with result carries all the mass. Impressions are the tie. The benefit of knowledge.
I cannot be nice without being who I am not. I suppose my dilemma is I'm not entirely sure of my qualities. In my eyes they are the truth, in others unexplained happenstances. I can only continue.
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