A haunting song whose vibe I feel this morning—
Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog
Where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you
The angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
(Round Here, Counting Crows)
Feeling a bit ghost in the fog like this morning. I’m in the world, existing, but am I living? Christmas usually brings such joy and there is… nothing? I opened the front door this morning, face hitting the cold, staring at the neighbour’s Christmas lights. I stare. Nothing stirs in the Holloway depths. I close the door. Someday, I will rebuild. But not this morning.