Shuffling to the WC, she thinks. In her own head she can think, in her own head she is conscience of herself, she needs no one else to tell her if she got done this right or did this wrong. She likes it in her head, with only thoughts and paths to choose on how she gets from A-Z without loosing her mind in the process. The outside world doesn't fit in with the jigsaw pieces her mind cuts out for her; making it hard to put the pieces together sometimes. Staring at her toothpaste stained reflection, she knows what she has to do. Crawling back to the comfort of her futon mattress, she closes her eyes, bargaining for five more minutes of unconsciousness.
Golden Mornings |