A Day Like No Other
21st Feb 2018
It feels weird not to feel, quite honestly.
My fingertips seem to remember there should be sensations to pick up on every page, but all they get is the soft rustling of paper and smoothness of leather.
In fact, all of my senses seem to remember more than they can actually get to. Every inch of me seem to be straining to break through a glass wall... that simply will not budge.
How DO people live with such limited information about what surrounds them?
I don't even know what to write... or to feel.
By myself.
Alone.
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