https://docs.google.com/document/d/1S4gTftKUgLZvxmxLGLb4AY85A_I04uftRo19Ar3XciY/edit?usp=sharing

In my comfy bed i lay, tea brewing in the kitchen, a mug held in my hands. the music so softly spilling out of my speakers like a river, twisting and turning, contorting in to different shapes. I do wish i had more, more music, more tea, more caffeine, more honey, more nicotine, but these are only so i may have less in life, less worry, less cares, less control, less fear, less. The tea makes everything blurry. tired but not exhausted i continue to sit, my mind somewhere between a snail and the galaxy. The bitter taste is not something i care for but something i embrace, how to continue if not for the bitter taste. I have more than my tea, but care not for those things.