So, beyond the 40+ new bugbites that I now have…
I dunno. It was a time for reflection. For seeing things as they could have been in a different universes. Which, in its own way, makes it sortof worth a lot of bug bites and solitude.
The sweeping insensitivity of this still life.
In the end there are no excuses. There are not suitable explinations or rationalizations or justifications. In the end…there are only choices.
Moments lost forever? Dead potential?
All those years; they were here first.
I have bug bites.