(no subject)
The perpetual motion and our movement forward was dizzying. It was as simple as a glance through a lit window at night, or so it seemed. Our eyes were heavy with a lack of sleep and this left our emotions astir. The moon was waxing over roads wandering through the night. It’s a secret language we speak, me and the moon. The grandiose gestures that accompany your words are too obvious for us to over look. It’s a silent killer, those glances you throw. It’s a good thing I’m immune, but at the same time such a shame. I am immune. The expression on your face tells a different story than the words pouring from your lips. It’s like we’re your audience. You’re the player on stage putting on a show for the crowd. Only an actor and nothing more. What have we become in these hazy days?