Evenings, generally
January 20, 2010
There's sweat on my pillowcase and the color in my windows is dying, graying, so that the rods and cones in my eyes are trading places. Relieving each other from duty. And because of that my vision is so grainy when I open my eyes.
And that's when I tell myself not to think, to drink more wine, and to lay my sweating face onto a dry spot on my pillow.
In the morning, you know, I won't feel like this. The golden light will shine in with an angle that's crisp and new.
And I'll go snorkeling to see the fishes.
Tags for this piece: depression sleep alcohol costa rica