being is the hardest part.

Somewhere between his furniture and three seconds from reality, the weight of his skull kept reminding him that the only particular things his eyes and thoughts had in common, was the way they salted his cheeks. No amount of black coffee could ever untangle the nettles chisseling him further out of 

and thus his last hope ascended from the feet of his brain and into an unforgivingly cold Saturday night. Was this really what the inconsequential month of October was for? Lying on the wrong side of your apprehension in a moonlit bed, listening to practice room sketches; Waiting?