The taste of coffee too strong, the feeling that you must work in order to [progress{?}],battling the heavy feeling that you are incapable. The white walls. The cold. The solitude. The isolated/insane personalities you are surrounded by.
The winds of the past are blowing by me and I can smell the smells, taste the tastes and feel the feelings as if I am again in that world.
A world created by so many intricate dynamics that the weaving couldn’t possibly be woven again.
Good.
I am safe. I never have to return. I’ve got the wind to remind me of where I’ve been and encouraging me to keep [going{?}]
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