I stood up too fast. Something slipped behind the eyes. Soft to the touch, but *od it burned. It doesn’t feel real. Maybe it isn’t. Another sinking feeling. More than sinking. Less than swimming. Up, up and away. Don’t put it off. The world is full of noise. I hear it all the time. The chaos. The calm. Every second. Something new. Sometimes here. Sometimes not. Strange words. Stranger thoughts. Being is strange, but wonderful too. I’ve made some strange decisions. Things break before I can hold them. People, too. Life is full of missing parts. Not useless. Never was. Every day is the same day. It knows what it wants. Not for you. Not for me. Art is an invention of the soul. The soul is an invention of art. Our heads are round so thought can change direction. People never stop lapsing into one another’s lives. A woman is an island. I am the sea I drown in. But then again I could be mountains, too. I’m growing soft again. The bruises tell me so. But who says soft can’t be strong?

They look very simplistic and beautiful, but I can't understand them. If anything wants to, I'd welcome explanations.