Melancholy busyness

Fragments of a story arrive all day long as if communicated through the ether from some unknown place. The fragments weigh heavily upon me. Yet I write them down as best I can. Even the good days induce melancholy that busyness cannot dispel.

I look down upon sun soaked State Street and wonder why I spend my days like this. Does a devil or an angel goad me on?

Published in: on March 10, 2008 at 4:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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