Infinite Strange

I need to re-read my novel, I’ve (legitimately) lost the plot.

Today was an odd amalgamate of emotion. I rather enjoyed it.

Disjointed, this post and my thoughts: sometimes I wonder what sane feels like but never for long.

I envision great things, and I hope that they are true, mostly because they all seem to require a me and a you (I know you’re out there somewhere, waiting for me as I wait for you).

Day by day, so it goes slower every minute, making seconds into little eternities, a lifetime contained in each moment. A galaxy in every breath, spinning irreverently, fluidly toward something infinite; maybe finite but somehow endless.

I am so strange.

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry

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