A Tiny Stream of Connectives — #39

Almost lunch time. Time to return to my mundane journaling. Journaling my life one daily chunk at a time. Time ebbs away in a consistent flow. Flowing by me like a paper boat on a tiny stream. Streaming is how my brain feels sometimes when I try to sleep. Sleep deprivation sometimes fuels and sometimes breaks. Breaking away from the mundane and finding the spark of creativity is the key. Keys to what I think are jangling around my brain like the keys of a blind jailor. Jail is where the heart is. Is that a truism or a falsehood? Falsehoods abound in a world run on lies. Lying eye to eye, face to face, words come freely and mean nothing at all. All I want to do is to continue to write and create and discover. Discovering new words I have passed over before. Before it all ends.