eliza

I’m on the edge of existence, looking out at nothing, the substantial, rich, eclectic nothing of which all reality is woven.

The winds of time push us around; we live to love.

Dreams are our futures sharing with our pasts, and we their interpreters, frustrating the first and misunderstanding the latter.

There is always something to distract us, something urgent, usually unpleasant, so I’m going to say this really fast, before I lose your attention: last night I heard the roar of the planet spinning on its axis, the deafening breath of an enormous creature.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a little girl received an angel decoration.