Time is something that has little concept in a busy life. It's already the forth month of the year, and it's a miracle – or just a daft occurrence – that it has not felt like it's been that long already. Every minute feels like nothing. Time is irrelevant, and life feels meaningless.
What this means for the other eight months yet to come in unknown, which only adds to the unease settling within my weary bones.
YOU ARE READING
365
Non-FictionI had this idea last night after a few drinks, a pounding headache, and an excessive amount of throat lozenges. In order to inspire me to write more often than I currently do, I am planning to write a new post every day and publish it, allowing me t...
