Epilepsy

On the verge of packing all talent, maybe it’s time to hang everything we ever managed, constantly having time pushing us towards the paper where there lies no dreams and enough shelter for a minimum wage. Rumour has it we might not even make it to the other side; rumour has it we’re not different from everyone else who ever failed and rumour keeps reminding us that we could possibly be one of the greatest writers who ever lived but then again that’s a rumour.

“There’s not enough time but I’ll try to stall for you, don’t pack everything... just keep your mind outside the box.”

Digging for gems on every piece of soil we walk on, unfortunately resurrecting friends who become foes every time we break a sweat heading in the right direction.

“You’ve changed...”

“You left...”