Without Purpose

Yesterday—as—today: fell asleep with my journal on my chest. Well, partly a lie. I fell asleep considering possibilities of lines to write in my journal. Nothing profound of course—but the mind took up a word or two and carried itself into a scene set beside a slow moving river.

Warm temperatures.

Moody shadows.

A conversation between two undisclosed people.

Perhaps myself.

Or not. Both sets of faces blurred with memory.

Water colors merging on paper.

Without purpose.

Perhaps.