Quiet One
remembering at 4:01 p.m. on 2003-09-29

I am supposed to be the possessor of something larger than myself.

Something...

extended from me, so that I might show you all, the inner mechanics that makes this mind turn, over and over again.

In truth, I do not know the way.

These shades of the subtle, the way the color pulls me up, and away from my quiet times. These small fluctuations in thought- a dream like state I can't seem to arise from.

I could show you these fragmentations. The thin brushstroke of indecisiveness. Formed words of images, that pool in my eyes, like some hopeless lament at the end of my own quotations. But in the end, my eyes are quiet. Silenced by the pulsing common sound of artificial life.

Do I stray from these words here...

Do I write for anyone but you?

Is there more to me than this?

I'll never know.

never was � never will be

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