. . .

Miracles

Look in my eyes.

What do you see?

Do you see true love shining out of them? Everlasting trust and affection? Or darker things, hatred, obsession, fear?

When I look in your eyes, I see eyes. Small jelly-like balls. The pupils are black, the irises are green, and the whites are bloodshot. Seeing thing in people's eyes is for poets.

Boredom is futile. Futility is boring.

Shattered cracks through this lens. I can't see through it, and it can't see through me, so we both pretend and hope for the best. I'm big on hope. I'm small on eggs. Small endian forever, heathens!

One step away. One step away. One step away.

The trick is keeping it to one step. More and it's too far to shout. Less and you're in lockstep. I meander some, but I think I stick around there finely. Mostly due to my utter lack of unselfconsciousness. Or too many Cheetos.

I'm derailed. Scribbling to scribble, no more. Less. If I could think properly, create properly, I wouldn't be in this mess. I'd have An Idea. Flailing mindlessly is no substitute, but it beats working. Which I'm going to have to do at some point.

On the other hand, I have chocolate.