I’m happy when I have interesting work because “work” then feels like play.
Players play characters in plays; musicians play music while playing to audiences. Writers work, however; and artists work at producing artworks. Work and play can be a fine balance.
Words can make grunts of great cruelty or music of great beauty.
I watched the change from shy smiles to deep desires, until anger looked back.
The shopping aisles of perfect smiles draining the days in joyless fantasy.
Do you remember me? I don’t think you do because you never saw me. You saw another copy of a copy, a projection of your story. Now I am many stories, but only one is real.