Anonymous Journal entry.

Just playing around with adding a context and character to things that pop up in my head.
"...A thought goes through me, keeps me sane perhaps. They've only just given me a chance to write it down. 
The intoxicating, decaying smells of our reality causes us to wince and repel ourselves. We cover our noses and back away hoping it disappears as suddenly as it arrived, but once provided enough time, it becomes bearable.

That is, up until the point where the fresh air touches our senses, gives us a spectrum of textures we forgot even existed. In that moment we are filled with delight and pleasure, and truly forget the putrid that filled our lungs previously.

That contrast gives us a new perspective, we weigh both options and can appreciate the better of the both just that more intently. At least that's what I hope... for now, I find myself surrounded by decay, and have been given enough time to grow accustomed to it.
I long for the day when I get some fresh air..."