Tuesday

Steam.

I am full of words. Thoughts. Sentences. I am so full, that sometimes I feel like a boiling kettle, the steam is seeping out. Words are escaping and that this here, writing to you is my only way out. This could be prettier, I know there’s a pretty sentence in here. I’m just tired. It’s late, I’m broken and my words are jagged.

Times of stopping

I think I met you once in that sleepy-sleep state. You know the in-between place. That quiet place between here and gone, where the room sof...