it's 4:49 am.
i'm alone in my room with the balcony door open, and i can feel the breeze of bangkok air. it's soft, and delicate, and feels great on the skin, like lotion made of the wind.
every single light is turned off. as i lie in bed wearing boxers and with my hands pillowing the back of my head, the screen from my laptop illuminates enough of the ceiling for me to watch the rotating fan spin counter-clockwise.
Nice blog! Your writing is very lyrical.
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ReplyDeleteyou gotta keep writing until you hit your stride. that's how it works.