Before 19 coffee was a chore. a chore of effort to speak through the detachment. Built up 3200 days.
Through the curtains a dog tied to a teather. Well fed certainly, Yet stares at the window
I sit , I sip, I dare to speak. Casual words. No throughts of life, ideas and plans. No remembers are told.
Fear the martyr, negation, invalidation, who argues and devalues. Feelings familiar for 19,000 days