ability

It's quite odd.
How my ability to marvel, anything and everything, which I usually hold as my favourite characteristic about myself, just kind of disappears into the cracks in Tallinn.
God knows why.

It's getting REALLY BORING.

Maybe once I get a new flat.
And have a vinyl record player.
And I can play old recordings of Beethoven, and Rachmaninov, and Gershwin.
From that shop.
The shop we went to.
(..good god, I was happy)
Maybe when I have my own kitchen.
Where I can cook all the things I want to cook.
With my music.
And my books on a shelf.
The way I want them.
And my things.
My things in their places, and my order.
My scores, and learning the scores.
Painting, and drawing, and dancing, and laughing or crying.
Just BEING. Like I want to be.
And my cigarette breaks, on the window sill.
With really cold air.
My my my my my my.
Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine.
Mine.
Just unwatched, unmeasured, unassessed.
Unobserved.
Free to create through just being.

All of the things that I've seen this year:
All of the things that I've felt this year.
This has been quite the year.
I need to take it easy, so so easy.

I suck at seeing the larger context.
I just forget.
I really should keep that in mind.
The larger context.
Of everything.

How much change, and disappointment, and then growth, and Love can a person digest, without any side effects, in less than a year.


I'm a master of painting over and painting over and over, things with things.
Painting over, and deceit.


In other news, however, some hair colour inspiration.

Yours truly.
M.