Space.

I don't know what I'm doing up right now. I'm pretty sure I'm not writing my paper. Maybe I'll get up in the morning and write it. Miss class, procrastinate till I'm dead. Unlike nights sitting in front of the computer, under the curtain with the fan beside me billowing the sheets. I'm not actually working. That me sitting right there in that purple room, with the big television broadcasting pbs, had no idea of me sitting at 4 17 in a computer lab. I'm not sure if that makes me feel happy, or sad. Perfectly oblivious of whatever I am today. Do I ever think of myself on a computer a few months from now? Will I be in a different state again? Who would I be talking to beside me. My cat? My friend. And maybe we'll sit here and talk for hours about some brilliant something. Maybe a manipulative something. And hopefully whoever I'm sitting next to, there will be some happiness between us then. Just as there is happiness who I sit beside now. In my case of chronic dreaming, I do in fact think that lovely futures do exist just as they do in imagination. Kindness that acts kind purely for the stripped intention of kindness. As well as care that lives for no reason. And attention that pays in full.

Happy Mother's day yesterday. Happy future.