Comfort in methodical routines. Living each day by rote. Thoughtless actions on autopilot per prescribed directives. No responsibilities beyond the predictable scope. Until one day there’s a mental snag.
Is this all there is?
What if…? What if…?
Is this complacency truly a sanctuary, or is it a prison dressed in the trappings of familiar occupation? The thought is but fleeting.
A new day dawns and the routine continues- an analog order rotating through well-oiled gears.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick.
Ivory Calla 