I admit that nothing will soothe my soul. I admit that my life is a failure, if failure is a spiritual desert in an aimlessly drifting story. I willingly admit... well, maybe not today. It's getting somewhat late.
The sand is calling. At least that is what my therapist suggested. I guess I could listen.
But why, though? Lets take stock: I had no reason to go here in the first place. Then I lost track of time, space, and sanity. And above all: my writing skills evaporated when the desert air or whatever it was that swept across the dusty plains of