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My soul is weirdly yellow. Mellow. Though it would like to be hit or spanked a bit to get all the over-thinking out of the system.

Long days are not the best for such a fragile soul like mine. And by closing eyes I just imagine that my beloved ones are taking my hands and holding as strong as they can, stabilizing all the universe at once and continuing or closing doors finally.

Otherwise, I might slam the door and then try to get my broken fingers out.
My soul feels weirdly yellow. Like concentration of cigarette butts melted in water. It should be flushed down the toilet. But it is my soul. So I just try not to think.

Honey, remember when I told you that you think too much when you were driving your car on a snowy road in my neighbourhood? Please, repeat that to me now.

Good night yellow knight

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