Sunlight is out today. The weather is not too cold, but not too warm.
Despite predictions, it does look like it is going to be a warm day.
Perhaps not in the shade. Perhaps in the shade it will be cold in order to battle against the heat of t he sun.
It looks down upon us as though we are a small object. Perhaps to the sun we are.
Perhaps to the sun, most things are quite small and insignificant.
Perhaps the sun thinks everything is small and insignificant.
Perhaps I’m trying to anthropomorphise the sun in some way whilst at the same time trying to deny the fact that I am trying to anthropomorphise the sun.
Perhaps there are large gaps in how long this has taken to write and I am just trying to race against the clock at this point.
Perhaps the sun is a body in space that we just so happen to be near by which therefore allows us to have life on this planet.
Well, life as we know it to exist.
There is a day outside. It looks like it is a nice day. I am inside in an office.
I am next to someone who I would consider to be a friend. They are working. They look bored at the moment. They are probably just reading. I do not know their motivations, for they are quiet.
Perhaps they are just waiting at this present time. Waiting for a change in circumstance that will allow them to continue on with what it is that they are currently doing.
Perhaps I am also waiting for the same. If I am, will I know when it occurs?
Will I know when I occur?
People are walking around. There is noise. It is the sound of people talking to people on the phones. It forms some sort of background drone with no obvious note.
It is a collage of voice in a wave of vagueness.
I am sitting here. It is here that I currently sit. It is this space that my body currently inhibits.
My friend takes a sip from his bottle. I do not.
I continue to sit and write. I am trying to find the words to make some sense of the current situation, yet they are elusive to me for I should not be looking for the words and instead I should be using them, even if they are not known to me, for they will eventually reveal themselves if I continue to persist with my current trajectory.
The ceiling is as smooth as it is not smooth.
There is an odour and I cannot put my finger on where it is coming from.
There seems to be something that is leaking.
Perhaps there is a gas leak. I do not know. I am not sure.
I do know that right now this is the space that I inhabit and I am waiting for my lunch to reach an end.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:11:32
I guess this is interesting.
At one point I less of an idea than usual about what was being written.
I think that maybe this is a little too serious and dramatic.
Written at work.