Today was no different, by any means. Yet something had shifted inside of me. It wasn't a particularly painful change, but its difference unnerved me. I could fathom no reason for it, not the slightest thing. But then again, though I was fairly good at noticing, I was inept in noticing why. I felt empty and barren, a cold mountain range of idle feelings. I had a few speculations to toy over but part of me didn't want to understand; wanted to be blissfuly unaware. I soon found out that was out of the question. Sure I could cram it to the innermost folds of my brain but its presence would still be enough to cause a certain tribulation.
There seemed one positive notion that stemmed from this inexorable change; I no longer thought in fragmented words and pictures. No, every thought had been transformed into a delicate phrase, almost worthy of novels. No effort needed to transform them, they sat, preconceived and ready.
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