Tic Toc
Tic toc. We're on Mount Palomar. We're not going to the observatory. We're here to create. So, I sit in front of the computer. I stare at the screen. I get up to sit outside in the patio. The patio is full of wasps. At night, there is space between the trees. A space that hides something. I want to do. I want to do so much. But what for? Whom am I writing to? So, I think, I'm bored of dreams, dreams in which my dad is alive, and my mother is wrapped in bandages, like a mummy,