Friday, October 23, 2009

I am conscious of time passing quickly and there are ghosts abroad tonight. Friends departed are walking and none walks more tall than that phantom that was me. Walking by so many walls, reading those messages which I did not read when their messages were relevant. Kafka's door is there again too, that door through which no-one passed because no-one could.

posted by Weasel @ 8:55 PM 0 comments