Abukoff House Books

I began the journey of my own volition. The physics I understood only enough to make them work, dragging a thin line through probability. An ode to Einstein and existentialism, that I could break rules and the shell of destiny at once.

The reason slipped away after the first month.

After two the ability to change my mind.

Six months passed me by like an abandoned railroad station that somehow seemed familiar, but lost to faded memories. The lack of grasp or link or tug but just a simple nagging itch pulled tears and stopped me from sleeping.

The first year wasn’t even a mark on the calendar, that I never thought I’d need. It was a day like any other. Reconstituted caffeine and the memory of a cigarette and the endless empty black of night.

I feel like it began at the end of the world, and at two years that sounds so inviting. It’s so very lonely.