Weight to your tongue.

It's been a while.

I'm starting to think that perhaps the curse of being human is the capability of our minds to imagine. With its power, we take ourselves to better places and better people, better circumstances for all. We seem to know a better reality than our crushing own, cursed with the refining imaginative frame that trickily flicks away the flaws of our days. But we open our eyes after our seconds of fluid joy and find the same images flickering teasingly, unchanging and one step behind our minds. We've been taught perfection, and given minds capable of dreaming as much, but the poison in the air tells us otherwise.

The weather's growing cold and it's been a quarter of the year since I've really paused and given much thought to anything. I should know, nothing is easier than being preoccupied working, studying, eating, sleeping, tiring, recovering; chase chase chase. I've hardly read but that's okay, with nights spent with Passenger in my ears, I've hardly been discontent. I cannot explain this phenomenon to people. Are you supposed to recognise happinness when it is your own? I calculated mine mathematically. Work = Good. Uni = Good. Friends = Good. Family = Good. Therefore, happiness. Like they say, it's not grand. It's a pretty colour not a magnificent one. Somehow I don't feel quite okay with that. 

Anyways, 

Will manufacture some Z's now.