train back home.
shaky.
cold.
i like playing guitar very softly, on the threshold of audibility. and singing to its tones, it sounds beautifully at night. playing lullabies to myself - a bit insane. and then - almost falling asleep. oddly enough, i find more rest and relief in these moments than in a dream.
leaning over the angle between guitar body and neck, when you smell the timber and feel it glide under your fingertips - it's almost like singing somebody to the ear. as if there wasn't only echo in the room. as if there was a breath.
it is strange that you do not remember
any of your poetry, william blake.
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