They don’t know it yet
He thought it ironic that he had no problems typing warm and lofty dreams with cold numb fingers.
And how he could feel dark and alone on a warm sunny day, on a crowded beach.
How useless is it that he felt inspired but was unable to create anything artful?
Or that he dreaded the one thing he desired the most?
She found herself wondering where her “friends” were when she most needed them.
And why she felt that no …
