A blizzard of confusion; the snowflakes decide if to settle or to melt away. Instead, they flutter, vacillating between different heights in the cool, blue sky. They whirl like starlings, round and round in great plumes of indecision, but is there method behind their madness? Who are we to judge? The grey clouds intensify with every conversation and exchange of hidden emotions; the dreaded, yet soothing desire of wanting another seeps back into the blood stream. The fine line between platonic endeavours and love, between love and disgust, steadily and ever more intrinsically weaves itself a silver thread of complication, connecting two separate situations and making three. Such matters should never be compared to a simple addition, moreover, it is a division, a subtraction, a quadratic; there is always a problem to be solved.
Badger-box
Month
