who?

this blog, what?... this blog, who?... this what?... words flow as if they were on their own telling a story that may be fiction, but then, someone would have to care to know to know and then, this life loosely called mine may be his or her or yours, even... loosely speaking, of course... the owl across the room from where he has the habit of sitting at least for the last few months is not appealing to him and he will ask her if something else can hang there as she put up all the wall decorations as his are long locked away in far away storage, memories no one cares to explore... a life left behind that remains an invisible albatross around his neck even as he floats freely in the moment of now each day... night have become more restless as he seldom sleeps, but then, what is there to do for a boy who lives to share while waiting for someone to share with... he does not want to miss a thing, after al, even if no one is around, someone might suddenly appear as if from out of nowhere and if he was asleep, he might miss her... she sleeps restlessly, but at least she sleeps... me?... this life i loosely call mine might just be a dream...