I think I like rum. Better than whisk(e)y or anything else. Whiskey tastes good on its own, but rum has always made me think. Set my brains running. Drove my desires to a confidence level that hope was irrelevant.
I can feel this significant change in the tone of my writing. I don't like it yet. The brain would have shrunk since. It feels like a tightly packed suitcase. But the major change is, I thrive on hope. No desire, no drive, but hope that someone or something will change.
When you live on hope, you fear death.
No comments:
Post a Comment