I went to the beach yesterday. After a long time. With someone I hadn't seen in an even longer while. I felt very old. And sitting there on the sand drawing stuff with a stick. I was aware of being weathered. Then it rained. The lunch was perfect. The evening was sweet.
There's one head I can enter. Although with increasing difficulty. But still, I am allowed inside. And I am grateful. Because I know. There's people who keep going in and out of heads. I call them wind-people. Because they are so like a draft. Homeless. I guess too many people want them. And nobody actually needs them.
I am afraid my last oasis is closing its doors on me too. I don't want to become one of them wind-people. I don't want to blow forever.
'Someday, never comes' - CCR
