Go Slow, But Go.

It’s cold in town, it’s cold and it’s grey.

I imagined myself hunched over, somewhat older, a disgruntled face framed by a thick woollen collar. It’s a different time in my mind, let’s call it non-specific-history. I imagined the sound of friendship spilling out from the pubs that I passed. I was separate from the world, I was an island and I was happy.

Having given it some thought, I know the source of my feeling low. Which is not an answer in itself but is something.