I want to be a fish. I want to sink under water and live in a quiet little fish bowl. Revert back to a primordial being. Or maybe a cat. I can lay in the sunshine with my belly up. I could be a hermit, living in a grotto with only books to keep me company.
Atlas carried the world on his shoulders. How heavy the whole world must be, even for a giant. Just my tiny little one seems immense after a while. I suppose what we can bare is relative to the size of our heart or the pocket we put our strength in.
My pockets are empty. I want to go away. I want to disappear. I want to sink back into the abyss I came from and take Davy Jones for a husband.
A book about someone who was taken for grated.