I’m trapped in this artificial bubble. I keep pointing at it and asking questions so everyone can shrug and tell me, it’s life. Sometimes I’ll stand right at the edge of a curb, the toes of my worn out converse poised on its precipice, and think about not being dead. I like the way I feel as the traffic slides by. When it’s something big like a truck or a bus I can feel the wind drive through me as it races to catch up. It makes my spine tingle. I’ll stand there until I know I can walk.
Nic
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.
A Few Short Words 
Say Something