the winter begins to take it's crusty toll on your lips and knuckles.
it's here.
spent half the week in tokyo. people. people. more people. how could anyone even begin to fathom the beginnings, let alone the ends of the stories of so many, many people? i'm stumped.
my feet are sore and blistery. this evening after my welcome-home bath soak i whittled away at them with a pumice stone. the dead skin fuzzed off almost effortlessly, like it had been waiting for an excuse to leave for greener pastures.
i wandered through some nooks at night and day, sometimes with a friend, sometimes without. i drank alone at the bar and i scribbled furiously in my notebook when the spurts came.
they come and go. come and go.
why is it that the ones you hold the tightest are the ones who pull away the hardest and fastest?
it's here.
spent half the week in tokyo. people. people. more people. how could anyone even begin to fathom the beginnings, let alone the ends of the stories of so many, many people? i'm stumped.
my feet are sore and blistery. this evening after my welcome-home bath soak i whittled away at them with a pumice stone. the dead skin fuzzed off almost effortlessly, like it had been waiting for an excuse to leave for greener pastures.
i wandered through some nooks at night and day, sometimes with a friend, sometimes without. i drank alone at the bar and i scribbled furiously in my notebook when the spurts came.
they come and go. come and go.
why is it that the ones you hold the tightest are the ones who pull away the hardest and fastest?
posted by threedee glasses at 7:31 AM
1 Comments:
Why are you squeezing things, dear?
If you make a fist, you can't fit as many things in your hand as when you leave your palm open. Try leaving your palms open: see how much more you can balance in your hand? If you squeeze what is in your hand, you are hurting yourself as well as the thing inside of the fist, non?
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