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9/16/2011

I HAVE FORGET THAT IS FRIDAY?


DIARY,
And I may say that my philosophy has been deeply affected by the fact that windshield wipers ticked off seconds too loudly and hopelessly, than my clock drips loud sharp clicks too monotonously on my hearing. I can hear it even through the pillow I muffle it with - the tyrannical drip drip of seconds along the night. And I wind the clock. Click-Click! Tick, tack, snip-snap! And it goes on and on. I could smash the
measured clicking sound that haunt me - draining away life, and dreams, and idle reveries. Hard, sharp, ticks. I hate them. Measuring thought, infinite space, can you once up on the time understand me? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But is hard , and I have so much to learn-
Click-
Click, clock snips time in two, lap of rain, in the drain pipe two o’clock but never you. But I cannot cry, not to smile...
Anja