there is a subtle turmoil in the air. It seems to be condensing to a thick vapor as the hours pass. seeping down the walls, forming to a mold.
Spores of malcontent.
My brain plays calming tunes, a defense mechanism, I suspect. Behind
docile rythmes, a whisper catches my better senses. "You have seen this before", it beckons.
Indeed I have.
I wait in silence for another revolution. Perhaps I will escape it, if only I keep listening to the music, but my instinct to join in the festivities may prove too strong.
Time will tell. He is a sneaky one, time. I keep one eye on him. Lest he attempts to dupe me again. He is not to be trusted.
The player in me wants to scream advice, but the observer in me demands silence.
And so for now, I wait.