akeim buck?
I surrender myself to this meak and meagre day. Eyes and mind alive with
coffee but dull with stimulation; death creeps in like the shadow cast from any
other wayfaring stranger. My memories pale, I fear for further losses at
already losing battles. That the weary hinges that staple all relevance and
meaning to dim visages of experience will falter under the weight of my
carelessness and self-harm. I often burden myself with a confusion between
regard and disregard for my health. Does it not stem from my inability to grasp
the unknown and the seemingly absurd? The walks down time's narrow and
flat paths remain undisturbed in spite of all observers and subjects, in spite of
themselves they continue to tread.
But now I look through my window and I see the tiny speckles of light, like
sand littering the darkened monolith of the flats in the distance, little saucers
lamping countless evenings spent at home; I can't help but wonder what less
grace and serenity these wintry vistas would have beyond the stake of their
context.
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