MindRush
Saturday, May 2nd, 2009A Saturday morning finds itself itching my skin with the anxiety of work to be done, work that is not done, and work that might be done. The drippy grey skies are not forgiving.
And I’m reading a mustard yellow book, with never ending pages that turn by themselves but rewind in your mind like frenzies so the farther you get the nearer to the beginning you are. The plot is lost. The skies are still dripping, wet, cold.
But you will wonder what are the colors of my life, what colors will I never feel, what sounds will I never hear and what scenes will my eyes never feel?
- via butdoesitfloat.com
The coffee that runs down your throat and slaps the pit in your stomach with splashes of caffeine will never return to lush lands of Argentina where they were born. They die in clutches of the espresso machine while the steamer screams for them.
Gracie
