Autumn

Autumn

Monday, May 13, 2013

Zero Dark Thirty

Tick, tick, tick. Stupid clock. Time in one's life is so finite and I hear mine, marked, as it slips from my fingers.

Nightmares broke my rest and then without conscience thought I find myself in the kitchen, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs and coffee.

I do hate when she's away.

Nightmares, too.

Stephen