rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Clarity came to the sky and draped it with stars. There is now no hint of cloud shading the morning twilight. It would be best if today were not as nice as yesterday, which presented such an ideal of spring that I was drained of all ambition and accomplished nothing. If every day were so near perfection, I would be lost. The soft hours would beguile me, and in their thrall I would drift until shattered on the rocks of sloth. It is enough that my senses are drenched in the jasmine's perfume. Too much sweetness is deadly.

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