The day passed just like the days before it did. There were things I did, and didn't do. And the clock ticked on and on, endless, not quite giving the notion that here would come yet another day.
I would like to muddle upon the things that remained the same every day, as I would always do, but the air seemed lighter and I felt ligher, too, making me think that maybe, I would like it better if I didn't think of the usual shortcomings that featured my days. That maybe it would be better not to think about them as shortcomings at all.
YOU ARE READING
some things
Short Story“I can't get to know you" means "I shall never know what you really think of me." I cannot decipher you because I do not know how you decipher me.” ―Roland Barthes; A Lover's Discourse: Fragments
