i can hear all the whispers that have lived a thousand years
when you are sick, you are timeless, and it is both incredibly freeing and severely jarring. this past week has felt epic and miniscule, as if someone has been unweaving the threads of time and then stitching them back together out of sequence.

i am concerned with my lack of motivation towards anything having to do with academia and i keep insisting that its this illness still trapped within my body. and although aching ears and blocked nasal passages and rasping throats may cause sluggishness, i doubt i've been so extremely indifferent since sometime around april.

it is increasingly odd, too, since i finally have a clear idea of what i will be doing with my future and still i refuse to accomplish anything that will hasten me towards any goals.

words have also changed their shape, and sometimes my mouth feels uncomfortable straining over their strange angles as they leave me in a rush of breath.

sweet words