Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Rub

Last night there was no one to pick up after work and no reason to rush home. There was time enough for a quiet beer, time to run a dark mile in the rain, and time to sit at the table and write a little. Last night there was quiet enough to think and too much to sleep well. Their absence added something heavy and stifling to the silence - the feel of a house without life. Tonight, it's all back - all the noise and motion that if I could just escape for a little while maybe I'd actually be able to write something. We live the story, and I steal seconds, struggle for sanity, and try to make some sense.

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