Idea of Her
8 October 2019 at 08:17 AM iPhone note:
I awake wrapped in the inside warmth tormented by the cold of the nighty oceans breeze. Bone shivering cold as an abyss of a frosty breath floating my bodies landscape. Facing futures. 8:17 AM alone and awake. I spend a while watching waves reminded of Virginia. I solace myself saying my fingers are to stiff to govern a pen and I write down nothing into my notebook before I palpate the coastline like a dead-alive dog in search of a bone. I stumble upon my feet and obstacles of life: Steps soar into the sky and dissolve in cloudy syllables. Words become waves become words become vague become intangibly vague and the nebulosity of moving mirror sky is reflected infinitely onto my otiosity tailing along the ocean. I am a dead dogs stiff tail and yet no sight of a bone. I upload an insta story in need, sound on, chattering of teeth substantiating the cold inhabiting the air space between my feet. Dead dogs are dead only when none speaks about them.