I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting. that maybe we could be what used to be? I am not sure that’s what I want either. it seems as if the weather is getting warmer but I know for sure there’ll be another couple of really cold days to expect. I am paying attention to everything. I’m rediscovering my own capacity to take in my surroundings. I’ve forgotten what’s it like. I had been put to sleep by someone who never cared about me; it was almost like becoming a cripple. heavy, like an iron shirt. I was reading paint it black the other day; perhaps that was the main reason why I decided to be more attentive to details.
that piece I mentioned a few days ago, about the seven months and my current reality. it’s turning out to be a continuous piece of writing. every once in a while I add a few pages of writing. mostly because I am convinced that one day it could become a novel. but how many times have I already thought that?