The bright white pulse of a comuter screen envelops me in a blanket of solitude.
I am complacently longing for the future to arrive.
Soon.
I hope.
But there's still 261 days left before I can go.
I'm stuck.
In my world of binary numbers and virtual insanity...
I wait for what's to come shielded under the bright Italian sun that I refuse to appreciate.
Clouds roll overhead and past my blind eyes.
Basta.
Enough.
Waiting is a joyless occupation.