|Art by Natalie Shau. That's what my (beloved) demons probably look like.|
Isn't it funny how you can spend your entire day busy and when the time for sleep comes, still feel that you've achieved nothing?
In spite of my tiredness, I presently resent going to bed. It means the day is gone and it is not coming back.
Time is slipping from my fingers again.
The only cure I know for this ailment? Writing.
When I am writing, time ceases to exist.
What is your cure?