and you paint them you say? you'll PAINT it?

I am all too abruptly deeply unsatisfied. It probably hasn't been abrupt it hasn't.
Rather, its been a gradual, deeply rooted state of dissatisfaction.

There is an excitement that builds like towering sky scrapers when I think about little, seemingly unimportant things.
and then, they crumble. They crumble almost as fast as I built them.

Well,
it wasn't for nothing.
but don't DRAW it. Don't paint it. that would be so...strange.
I bet my monologue will be better now because of that.
it was for my craft.
my fucking craft.
the craft I need to exercise.
I'm afraid I'll be out of shape by the time I get a chance.
out of shape in the same way I breathe so heavily as I walk up the library stairs.
Its not the time for thoughts such as these.
it'll happen.

[I need to sing again.]

you know whats keeping me in some little way satisfied?
all the books I have to read.
[!]