Brink.
It was just another sunday afternoon. Clock tick, bird chirp, intermittent markings of the time passing.
Nothing to do, except clean or sit. The daylight burning out but the slowness failing to cease. Untill finally, to bed. Hopeful that the tomorrow would bring some excitment rather than just another dreaded week's stress. Another countdown.
It was just another sunday afternoon. Standing on the edge of the world, underneath the sunrise of a new age.
Nothing to do, except live and learn. Shadows burning down over the already forgotten past, the comforting becoming strangeness to former selves. Note to self; don't let this feeling pass. Hopeful that all the possible dreams and foresighted images will materialise. That I will make them.
It was just another sunday afternoon. On the brink.
Nothing to do, except clean or sit. The daylight burning out but the slowness failing to cease. Untill finally, to bed. Hopeful that the tomorrow would bring some excitment rather than just another dreaded week's stress. Another countdown.
It was just another sunday afternoon. Standing on the edge of the world, underneath the sunrise of a new age.
Nothing to do, except live and learn. Shadows burning down over the already forgotten past, the comforting becoming strangeness to former selves. Note to self; don't let this feeling pass. Hopeful that all the possible dreams and foresighted images will materialise. That I will make them.
It was just another sunday afternoon. On the brink.