The times these days have an abstract quality to it. It is splattered with shades of Blue Grey and lousy Scarlet. In its stoic hurry, it leaves me behind as it rushes past me. I am not alive; it is some impostor in me who does the living part. I am merely a spectator of myself; I am surprised at the slick screenplay and the picture-perfect speed with which the frames jump queue and impose themselves. I keep checking dates and realizing that I have supposedly lived through days and months that I would not remember!
I think I will soon be running into a storm. It would help my memories. The showers will bring the dead back to life again.