i constantly wonder why i delude myself with the notion of being at peace with my life. i close my eyes and try to arrange in front of me a line of objects, people and circumstances. objects, people and circumstances that i would be fabulously at ease with. the distinct problem with doing this is getting the timing right. the placement of things in the line making profound fetial changes. the objects change like patterns of smoke. they dissipate quickly, as smoke does.
and the people—the people walk away.
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