three doors down
Three doors down live another poor bastard who doesn't know what to do with her life and here I am quarter past late contemplating about my life as if I'm the only one. There's the entire universe peacefully coexisting with everything that we know and everything we don't know and then there's me. I am friction. Somewhere in somewhat galaxy on a small piece of planet blue orbiting around like a lump of Svinto. "Lonely am I!", I scream as it echoes three doors down. "I am lonely", screams she. Two solitary lumps of friction fighting in a world confined only by our own terms. Captives of our own thoughts and late night philosophies. These peculiar beings create their own solar system between our ears without our allowance and as they grow in plenty they soon start to rub against the walls of our flesh. I glance at the window but instead, my eyes focus on particles flowing around like dust in the morning sun. Tiny dust anarchists existing without anyone's permission. But then again, I can't remember myself asking for any approval of existence and yet I exist. Half past late wondering if I'm dust too. Floating in the morning sun. Maybe I'm a poor bastard living downstairs. Maybe none of it makes sense at all.