I like the sleepy mornings; the sleepy afternoons. When your eyelids are difficult sandbags to lift. When the only things your senses understand is a familiar tired warmth, and that somewhere nearby there is coffee.
One thought on “escaping the never-ending present.”
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Yeah.
I like that moment when time drifts away and all you can muster to keep yourself current are reflections on your own cognizance and the Scotch you drank to keep you warm, but now embodies you.