The House Might As Well Be Empty For All The Noise I Can Hear Through These Bathroom Walls.

Yesterday I spent ten minutes in an empty linoleum bathtub, watching humidity bugs climb up stucco walls and scratching at the scabs on my lobster red limbs, thinking of things I cannot find the sense in now. Which is understandable, really – the workings of the mind of a fully-clothed girl sitting in a porcelain boat aren’t really conceivable by the same mind in retrospect.

Those were perhaps the most impractical, isolated six hundred seconds of the 470,724,146 seconds I’ve lived. Interestingly enough, though, I cannot help but think that they were the most halcyon, the happiest. Happiest? Happiest.

Is happiness ten minutes in a ceramic ship, with insects and figments of imagination for company? 

I think it just might be.

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