grey interior.
if i force myself to write, i can. i could even connect. i could tell you something that i didn’t know i wanted to. but when i’m compelled…well, that’s altogether different. when compelled.. i am sure of immortality. sure the idea endures longer than the hard drives. the internet. the elements. sure of this, as i’m sure i’m wearing pants. i wonder who does all this compelling that goes on in the world. sincerely, i wonder. my post-modern friends mock the mystic.. but when we all come together and dig the earth or probe the sky, we, the living.. find no closure. no proper end to our parent’s feud. now, now..no fuss. sigh for the effort, and smile for the photo.. if so compelled.
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