There’s this trepidation about feeling accomplished. Something that I have, about my own doings. Don’t know if this applies anywhere else.
Author: bruceduluoze
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 9.29.19
It was intentional. The gap, I mean. All that space and time between the last time I had done this up until the now which finds me here again. Seems like an eon. Seems like a minute.
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.7.19
There’s no desk here. Not one that I can use. Not one of my own. That is part of the explanation.
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 6.9.19
Rust grows quick on the fingers. Hasn’t been all that long… or has it been an eternity? I can scarcely recall the difference.
The Veracious Facade 