I don’t know if this would make sense as much as it does it does to me, but my day was pretty dull and sunny. I have no idea how the both mix, but the blazing sun was no more than tasteless to my likings.
Dragging myself off of the bed, I walked into the kitchen while I allowed my thoughts to meander elsewhere. My glance couldn’t help but notice the couch that sat by the furthest window. It always looked like it had a story and a past of its own. It has been there for as long as my memories could trace back to. The rugs stitched to it to make it as a whole were slowly wearing off, leaving it to adapt a shabby appearance. Objects that carried no souls within still aged and became useless at some point.
Some things make complete sense in my head, as though my brain was painting a masterpiece with the remaining of my memories, but as soon as my tongue tried to relate it to words, that masterpiece was soon of nothings worth.