Tag: jeanette_winterson

There’s no one out on the streets except us.
Birds sing. Fish swim. Time passes.
The constant anxiety of being human.
The constant effort of being human.
It looked like a house in a story.
I think about time because I don’t understand it.
Sometimes where you are is enough.
Sometimes it doesn’t matter that it’s night or day or now or then.
He didn’t want this dream to end.
Do you think you have any control over your life?
It’s philosophy at your fingertips.
Unpathed waters. Undreamed shores.
That’s a pretty truck you got there.
The air was fresh and starting to warm.
Why didn’t I think of that?
The missingness of the missing.
So many stories of lost and found.
But you can’t reverse time, can you?
What would it be like if we didn’t have a body?
They talked about life as flow. About nothingness. About illusion.