Got a splitting headache. It’s six in the morning and I just got “home”. The quotation marks are irrelevant. I don’t remember when was the last time I felt such a sudden urge to write something down, without actually having anything to write. Maybe it’s just a need to prove that I am coherent enough to hit the keys in the appropriate order to form actual words.
Drank a lot tonight. I guess. But it wasn’t really a lot because here I am on the precipice of dawn, sitting on a strange terrace writing nothing in particular. I tried to read, however it seems that my impressive headache is more conducive to writing than it is to reading. Something which I find utterly interesting, but do not feel the need to delve into the issue.
Got out of my routine. Feels good. But it lacks something. He knows who he is and where he is.
I’m trying to follow my own train of thought and it invariably wanders back to the windy, desolate night and the flickering lights at the entrance of the supermarket. It wanders back to the silence.
Beyond the dark there is a world which I cannot see.
I’m a bit drunk right now, in case you did not realize, and I’m trying to write it off, the fuzzy feeling in my head. Never liked it much, feeling muddled. Understandable, having in mind that my greatest fear is losing my mental acuity. It’s a bit pathetic that I would actually resort to drinking substantial quantities of alcohol, having that in mind. But I’m weak as the next person. Maybe more.
I do like the cold. I feel comfortably numb.
I really should go to sleep now. Dawn is breaking.