This is orgasmic - this cold and bitter Latvian beer. in this moment alone, i feel utterly content. i swallow my exhaustion and wash down the hopelesness.
I don't know. sometimes i'm just haunted by words. they just sneek into my head and buzz around and wrap my brain in a plenty of sentences, of different sizes and shapes. most probably it's the inevitable side-effect of being alone so much and of finally having released the monster. yes, the monster. but that we shall leave for another time to be explained, if ever.
the more i think about it, the less sure i become about the purpose for these unsent letters of mine. what for? for the lack of a good company? not really. for the lack of understanding? maybe. for the persistence of hope? most probably.