i have a thing for finding wisdomosity in everyday spaces. a couple nights ago i was at the bohemian in melville and i was captivated by the writing on the walls of the women's toilet:
the dream world seeks a reality of its own and it will break free.
[a letter addressed to a (former?) lover. names witheld.]
grow up, when you you, don't call me, by then i'll be dead/ancient/old. i loved, learnt to live with the hurt and never regretted. it's getting late. the sun has gone down - i can't wait for you that long.
i did love you.
to thine own self be true.
(fieldnotes, 7 january)
