It's all in the eyes, the reckless way we drink to die...
Life is better with a soundtrack. Friday's lunch hour was spent sitting on the second floor of the dining area at Union Station, at the back next to the window. There were a crazy number of kids there with their families, presumably the yuppies who had Good Friday off, like me. It seems that, as a general rule, the more children you have in a large enclosed space, the more the noise increases. You could've closed your eyes and imagined that you were at a concert, waiting for the opening act to take the stage. Anyway. It's fun watching people wander about in a public setting to the tune of some quality music. The brain begins trying to find patterns between what people are doing and the rhythm of the music. If only I could use my brain's powers for good.
Love is all my crippled soul will ever need.
Often I wake suddenly from dreams after encountering a familiar scent. The brain can eventually forget voices and cause faces to fade into vague concepts, but it seems that it has an uncanny knack of remembering scents. I can live with my memories of events, even though they tend to fade. Bad memories are better when you can't remember the details. Good memories seem to bring more warmth when you can't recall all the details of what went on. People look back fondly on old relationships because all they can usually recall are vague memories of good events. It's easier to get through the day that way. Waking from dreams with the smell of long lost lovers still lingering in the skull, on the other hand, can drive a stake through the heart. Even the vaguest of phantoms still has the power to prick you and leave you bleeding as long as it can still summon itself in your mind.
