July 11, 2016
There's a rhythm generating from deep within. On the surface, all is quiet, as if the air, earth and sky are falling asleep, but this is a deception. Everything is awake, waiting. In a moment a cue will come, like the shot at the start of a race. You don't know where it will come from, but it will come. I am resigned to this. I have no place to go, no place to run to. I don't feel the need to go anywhere. Escape is futile. This is where I am. The cockroach is still staring at my foot.