i have had a vision of my future, and i'm scared of saying anything.
in case, like everything else i have ever hoped for, it doesn't come true.
but it's pretty nice, and for once i'm happy.
my life came tumbling down, like an intricate picture made of dominoes.
or sand paintings that buddhist monks spend hours on, only to destroy them after a day.
now i'm busy separating the colours and putting them back in their appropriate boxes,
watching stupid shows on television and going to sleep at half three.
my mind's eye is ridiculously inaccurate, and gives me hope where there is none.
i hate that nobody wonders, and nobody asks, and somehow your unhappiness is all my fault.
i don't have anything much to contribute, except that everything slipping through my fingers makes me want to let go that much more.