Those three plain words near the end, after so much gray, read like somebody putting the chairs back where they go. Then home is the last word of all, with a maybe in front of it.
Birds of Prey
Thought
Thought
Those three plain words near the end, after so much gray, read like somebody putting the chairs back where they go. Then home is the last word of all, with a maybe in front of it.
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I'm unwell, and I need an answer. Maybe is too strong. He was just strange, a man I couldn't describe here if I tried, and he kept me curious through every class. He even made an inappropriate comment once, in front of everyone. I projected a lot onto him. I dissociated. Now I just want to go back to normal and I want him.
I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about how I think. If I could draw it, it would be that black-and-white picture: no clear edge, no real division, just the gray in between. That gray is inside me and it is me. Blue, earthbound, pastoral. I have no patience for ulterior motives.
The world isn't a clean split between good and evil, and it isn't their perfect union either. We don't know what the world is. We don't even know what we are. So how, exactly, are they supposed to help me?
Beginning. Middle. End.
Maybe I'm my home.
Thoughts
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The title promises birds and not one shows up, unless the man from class is the one circling. I kept looking for wings all the way through.
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All that gray with no edge anywhere, and then out of nowhere it turns blue and earthbound and pastoral. I liked that the color shows up right there.
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Those three plain words near the end, after so much gray, read like somebody putting the chairs back where they go. Then home is the last word of all, with a maybe in front of it.
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I'm unwell, and I need an answer. Maybe is too strong. He was just strange, a man I couldn't describe here if I tried, and he kept me curious through every class. He even made an inappropriate…