In the murky depths of the evening, there's a flood of thought and word and idea that surprises me with the joyous hope that there are still original things to be expressed. I suppose that's the drive for becoming a writer - knowing the power and extent of language to say something new has not been exhausted. But I know I'm exhausted sometimes.
I stayed late at the library a couple nights ago, and then decided to walk around the city late at night (okay, early in the morning - it was around 3:30/4:00am). I watched delivery trucks speeding through the quiet city streets, still halting at traffic signals to abide by the law, even without a single pedestrian approaching. I observed cars come to a stop, each to release a bounding human with a stack of papers tucked underneath his arm that bore the claim of "MONDAY." It's strange to read Monday's headlines when you feel Sunday hasn't been put to rest yet.
23 hours ago