Trying to figure out the day ahead, she gazes at the colorless sky but it gazes right back at her, unflinching and impenetrable in its vagueness. Flirting with the morning sun, the day still hasn’t decided which way to go. She can relate to this elusiveness on a deeper level, the words ‘disoriented’ and ‘ambiguous’ come to mind when she considers her own state of mind lately. Like looking through thick stained glass and seeing only random disfigured reflections of the world that make no sense.

She shifts the drive control to autopilot mode, and goes through every day motions: sleep, love, play, work, dream, cry, make love, be angry, laugh, pretend, write, eat, forget, fight, talk, lie, work, workout, walk, listen, read, learn… Not much of it sticks though cause she’s not really there. As illogical as it sounds, the shedding of skin is a process that demands continuous absence of self-implication.

The past isn’t of any help here. It is like a collection of photographs misplaced over the course of the years. Occasionally a faded photograph resurfaces, depicting distant places and forgotten faces, getting them out of the oblivion’s way.

The future is treacherous. It tends to blow up the proportions of imagination, the very substance our dreams are made of. Inevitably, the present finds that too much to deal with, and the dreams are pushed aside. Until finally comes the past to put things back into perspective.

By then, what’s done is done. The deed cannot be altered, only remembered.

Or forgotten.

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