I have written about nothing before, but nothingness can be a never ending subject, especially when you actually have nothing to write about. It all feels like a giant fog that came out of no where and the only thing it wants is my nerves and serenity on a plate.
The way nothingness screams in my head feels like it wants to puncture every brain cell and then to sew it up with nice colorful thread. I never get to choose the color, my opinion is worth nothing just like my problem.
Rambling thoughts and all I can see in front of me is more babbling and not enough choices, not enough hope, not enough patience. Sometimes when I struggle I feel like floating on a cloud and it’s only meaning is to carry me away on Oliver Shanti vibrations. I will admit: not a good day today, but tomorrow, tomorrow the sun will rise and set again and the moon will find me holding a glass of white wine in my hand in one of my favorite places in Florence.