I'd call it a nightride.

Sometimes I feel like I can be about as subtle as an eartquake, with its breaks in between. Nobody really pays attention these days, it's easy when we're so caught up. But it's not always easy to be upfront, though ideal, when it comes to most things. Sometimes it feels a little silly if I keep repeating things people already know here, but I need some meaning I'm able to memorise, because these so easily slip my mind. Maybe it's a lot to ask from someone as so not to speak, but if it's one thing to remember, then it's always another one to live again. I've always known there comes a fine line between these two but in my recent twisted conscience, I've come to realise we're seperate-- in grief, in time; I would have to pull myself out to fully understand this metaphysical act. It can be daunting to realise by the day so much of yourself you haven't found before, to suddenly be aware of the capacity of your own doing. It can be overwhelming, you turn around and realise how far you've got and realise this was who you were all along. My wrists hum from memory-- you feel it when the wind suddenly changes. The sky feels closer and the people distant but maybe I'm just imagining too much, what more with so much time on my hands and not much to do these consecutive days-- I feel them blend into one long night.