Equation

The lamp on the floor, turned away from me. Curvy spine of the neck. Head looks sad, elegant as a preoccupied cat. Lights a space, the semi-ciicle edge touches a CD (Cranes last album from 2008) and the first page - first panel - of a comic strip I didn't continue with. When was that from, 2006? 2007?
12:30am. Night-stillness. Laptop hums like my fridge in the bedsit. Gloomy deep darkness outside of the lamp light. Feels like nothing has moved in here for years. There is an attic somewhere where nothing has moved for decades, since before I was born. Dust mixing with silence. An old pile of paperbacks.
Sudden sadness. Here we are. The streets are tired when I walk to work. Sleep itself seems tired. Finish ripping one CD (Constantinople by Ides of Gemini) and start another one (Styne Vallis by Reigns).
When I see myself in the mirror, I think that gaze is 40 years old. This, for some reason, unsettles me.