Drifting throughts, carried on a light breeze. The taste of caf, the scent of rain. It is a summer morning in Citadel, and the year is 2020. We are broken, here in the future, but we are not down.
A morning run; a promise kept. The world, in these silent times, is different. Resurgent, perhaps?
From within the dystopian world we live, I find myself dreaming of a better future.
Maintaing the spirit in Lockdown, a sense of cautions optimism is founf in the darkenss of the night.
I can’t look away. I can’t not see it. My mind won’t relax. I must tidy.
In the silence of the empty life, the heart and mind yearn to find fulfilment. They know what they want, but they can only ask for what they know.
A faded hope matches the mood of a dull morning commute.
I watch the quiet recharge, observing myself from a distance, even as I game. A weekend passes. I’m better for it.
A short story, a message to myself, found again by accident. Written a year ago. It is a message of hope, written in an uncertain time.
Contrasts, observed in comparison, between now and then. A month has passed, and I have an opportunity to view the same place in a different light. Quite literally; thinking about it.