Some days

Some days are easy. Thoughts run into the horizon like wild white horses, leaving a clear sky. You float between earth and sky and there is no restriction, you can ride whatever feeling you choose.

Some days are like brick walls. You open a door and smash into the bricks, full frontal impact.

Some days are insipid. They have no taste, no smell, no nothing to make you remember them by. If someone were to ask you what happened, you’d struggle really hard and find nothing worth telling.

Some people are like that.

 

What was your name again?

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