October 12, 2010
I can feel the itch, Not phyically scratchable because something figurative can't be touched. It's a sixth sense, niggling away in my brain. I feel I'm being watched, my breathing. My shifting. Then I look up and make eye contact. A single, fragile thread binds our gazes for a mere moment and then it breaks, like a spider's web under the prodding of a destructive child. Though this doesn't feel destructive - something's being built, however slowly. Someday, I hope there'll be a building. Even though builders nowadays take forever to finish a building, when a building's built it'll stay standing.