I want to wake up with a singular purpose. Just to despite the odds of my capability to do so. Broken in so many ways it's become ridiculous. Ridiculous cause I don't have to be broken. My believe is strong and realistic. But still some things are still uncertain. The unnecessary is strongly fixed in my being. No noticed on the horizon just simple traps around me. And not always watching my steps. I am just to tired doing that. Hate me good if you have to hate me at all. Can ideas be even more unexpected? I hate theme because of there timing. Never is the good time to come. And then they come. Just a face can bring something. Something almost unwritable. But it can be done. Just the right space is missing. Or a better mind. A better working mind. Secretly hoping to get on my own way. But it's still not written in my path. Florence is my place to be. She gives me comfort and despite the obvious, she makes me smile. It is not the force of publishing that is thriving me, it just a side that knows that I am better then most of column writers. A small market for a small person. One of the saddest thing I know.
Quit and soft. Now undeniable thing for me. Know me or not, those are my two precious gifts and also curses. Just for know I still am. But I am loosing my mind, I hope in a writable way, so I am at least interesting to be around. If not, I found a new level of boring.
Michael
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