The Witching Hour is at Four
9/12/2016 -6/14/2017
There’s a certain sadness that resides only between the lines and the secret spaces in the silence. It passes unknowingly like a swift wind, almost gone before felt. Unlike the sadness that creeps around and suffocates enough to break you—it’s a ticking time bomb that eventually blows up. And then it blows over. But this sadness of mine comes and goes with the dew. Somewhat easily forgotten until you have nothing left to do. A sudden assault of being alone. A sudden realization of being helpless. You envy the tiles of the floor, the posts of the bed, the birds and the leaves that are breezily conversing in the cool morning. The world is turning and I’m farther from being born and closer to dying. Even people who have stayed awake from having a good time must be feeling blue at this hour. Why,why am I here?
There’s a certain sadness that resides only between the lines and the secret spaces in the silence. It passes unknowingly like a swift wind, almost gone before felt. Unlike the sadness that creeps around and suffocates enough to break you—it’s a ticking time bomb that eventually blows up. And then it blows over. But this sadness of mine comes and goes with the dew. Somewhat easily forgotten until you have nothing left to do. A sudden assault of being alone. A sudden realization of being helpless. You envy the tiles of the floor, the posts of the bed, the birds and the leaves that are breezily conversing in the cool morning. The world is turning and I’m farther from being born and closer to dying. Even people who have stayed awake from having a good time must be feeling blue at this hour. Why,why am I here?
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