Do you know the dread of seeing the little footprints, picking up on the clues? They leave evidence of their passing, and you can hear the scratching of their tiny claws. What worries you most is the thought of what they may have carried off and hidden. You'll never get it back. Do you know the dread of certainty, of seeing the hole for yourself? You're not just imagining it, although it IS all in your head. I've suspected it for some time now, and today I know for sure. I found the opening they use to come and go, to carry away things I needed to keep. I've got mice in my brain, and I can't remember how to get rid of them. They always take that bit first.
The cobbler lives at the top of the mountain, but no one buys his shoes, because the rocks of the mountain are too jagged and painful for their bare feet. Location, location, location.
I was picked up by a freak thermal wind this morning, and I'm swirling away high up in the clouds. I hope I don't come down in the water, because my pants are made entirely of cotton candy. They tried to tell me not to buy them, but how was I supposed to know this would happen?
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
