Last night I was musing while taking a slow stroll around my neighbourhood at half past eleven and I saw a guy smoking at a corner. I thought about how we all have a form of escape. Whether it is through drugs, alcohol, mindless sex, drawing or even writing. Maybe we all just need a medium to express ourselves. To escape from this hurt, this pain... even if it is just for a while.
Maybe keeping myself this busy could be a good thing, because I'm forced to not think about anything else. How much time has passed and I don't seem to know you anymore. And that makes me sad.