in between morning alarms, i have fifteen minutes to contemplate meaningfulness in jobs, and mindfulness, a rolling of words in the brain. my guilt has gone flaccid, and the plastic keys that my fingers press on, are unfamiliar with time, much like past-year friends.

they have such beautiful faces, the women, and the men are alright too. what is age, but just distance measured by time? they are so young.

guilt and guilt, and bars with life, because we live in them, and drinks. what is the cost of happiness? i would like to buy some happiness for the pretty souls that look so sad.