19.12.2012.

Season

You used to write poems, she said.

There was no disappointment in her voice. She was amused with my petty obsessions about irrelevant things. My touch is light these days and my grip doesn't hold. This is new to me, I know that now. It's been a while since I promised myself that I won't try to change ever again and if I do lie to myself, that's just fine. "The most important weapon
of survival that the evolution handed to us humans is self-deception supported with denial," I'm used to quote myself so often. This, however, whatever it is, is outside of my usual delusions.

I changed.