I was home before dinner today. I haven't set the table for dinner in weeks. I haven't been home early in weeks. It feels nice, to have the whole night to spend in different corners of the house, listening to my thoughts talk far too loudly.
When I'm in school at night, I'm too cold and busy to let the thoughts sit. They scatter, and nothing gets done.
On the train, people crowd out my space and silence and give me noise.
When I'm out at night, lights blind me and I don't talk.
But there's no way to escape at home. There are so many physical comforts that the other kinds of discomfort eat away into my skin. It hurts when I'm at home.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
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