Morning Morning Morning, another cold Cardiff morning. Sleeping bag in tow, we will pack today, to set off for another blistering cold hideaway far away from anywhere you can find me. Last night I dreamt again, again of a world where things that people say, are done. Where things make sense to me. Even in the Monet haziness of that world, things make more sense. Sometimes I think that my greatest sacrifice is my greatest weakness, but only to me. To others its probably a strength, to me its the Achilles heel that prevents me from leaving it all behind.
I will believe in anything, that last shreds of a person I will grab onto and still make them into something worth giving a damn over. Maybe that's where I keep fucking up.
But morning morning morning. The frost covers the cars and the pathway and slick with potential broken hips and backs. Each step is concentration and each tiny slip your heart races with the fright, and the pleasure.
Berlin baby, here we come.
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