Fumbling Towards

I have nothing profound, sincere or nice to say. I just have this habit of turning on my computer when I should be going to bed to find photographs that work together, put them in a folder, then forget about them. Here’s one of the contents to one of the folders. I’m not sure what the meaning behind this edit was. It’s probably in some notebook. I should find it.

Without looking, I’m pretty sure I had something started about the fragility of life and how time is both wasted and stolen. I’m sure it makes sense, if I could find the words.