Sometimes I feel like I'm living my own memories,
my own dream.
I keep thinking,
if I die,
it would be a tragredy,
more so now than it used to be,
because I'm at my peak,
but I'm living some kind of paradox,
where I'm 100% happy,
and I've 100% found myself,
yet I'm so 100% lost within that,
and it's like, wow,
if I die then this will all be forgotten,
all this in my head,
all this perfection within my soul,
right here right now,
and yesterday and yesterweek
and all the other recent days,
falling like rain from the sky of my mind,
trickling down through the cracks in the pavement of life,
but it's all surrounded by cotton wool,
and somehow it's all perfect.

(by the way, this is an example of the kind of stream-of-consciousness style of writing that I originally had in mind when I started Sailing Down the Stream of Consciousness, but eventually the photos took over, so now I've decided to seperate the photos from the words, and focus on both individually in their own specials ways)