I think of her often. Sometimes in passing. Sometimes on the train. When I give my attention, She takes it. Or is it I who , go , seeking ?

Passing the hills, the long roads, the iron tracks, it all reminds me. These grassy hills, existed when I naught knew.

What journey am I taking? My eyes close in sleep. Maybe due to exhaustion.

I string together the thoughts of her. They well up in my eyes. My heart puts it to sleep.

I rest now. I think of the details of life. There are so many. When I grow old, I will think of her again. And it is I, whom my heart will put to sleep.

I didn't say what it is I do. I am a junior financial analyst.

I work at a law firm in the financial district zone(ish) area of SF. It is okay. A job. A paying job.
I didn't mention it before, or yet did I ? I started March 30, no 31st I think . Thursday.


But I fear the lack of social life, I've had- or have- whichever use, in either case dwindling fast and into nothingness.

When you hear the same person daily talk about the same things after time it gets dull.

Words escape me at the last minute. Like a slippery, butterfinger thief. I can never get a hold of the words. Little bugs in the corners. Hard to see, without glasses; its all a blur. Isn't life?


A moment. A series of them. Years, and years. Compounded, layered peanut brittled if you will.