There, I would repeat to myself "This is where I will die!", but the truth is I don't know. And that's alright and if I can live with that fact, that confining morose feature of life then the time that goes by, slow yet countable days; I will be alright.
The darker, the deeper. The deeper, the closer to truth. Something valuable is at the end, perhaps a virtue. All I know is, it's unknown and I want it. I want to know.
All autumn I've been sleeping in. Watching through my window the leaves gild and morning sun bounces off them and sparkles into my eyes. Walks and talks outside with homemade cappuccinos in hand. Wanders through the night. The fur and jackets come out. Layers pile up. Lace them boots. Textbooks takeover Kundera time. Except at night it's Me & Milan against the will of tick tock my clock.
I look for beauty. I long to get better. I'm going to be good. I want to know me better.