It's not about being perfect, it's about writing.
lamabodhi's eyes become heavy. He looks at Palda, who is telling a story with exuberant gestures. The two of them have been sitting here for several hours now. After they had arrived at the tavern and Palda had won, Palda did not miss the opportunity to savour his victory to the full and began to dance. When Palda had finished his victory dance, they entered the tavern. The barmaid placed a bowl of fragrant goulash on the table and brought them a mug of sunflower brew. A few rounds had passed since then, and Lamabodhi could no longer remember what just happened.
"This sunflower brew is really kicking in."
"Aahh, the man can talk. You are looking very tired, my friend.
I think you should go to sleep!"
Bodhilama can still hear Palda's words ringing in his ears, but the word ‘sleep’ was the last straw. His head tilted forwards slightly and the gravity did the rest. Lamabodhi's head landed on the table with a ‘clonk’ and fell asleep.
"Zzzzzzz."
"Oh my pan! He just slept off."
Palda paused for a while and looked at the sleeping lamabodhi. After a short pause he bursted out in laughter.
"HAHAHAHA."
"Zzzzzzzz."
He slapped his knee with his hand. Then he stood up and approached lamabodhi.
"I wish I could just fall asleep like this....
MARTHA! Help me carry lambodhi to his bed.
His head is almost bathing in his goulash."
Bodhilama
sleeps dreamless
These are the Letters of Bodhilama, a guy who lives in a time of transformation.
A guy who felt the urge to write, because nothing else made any sense.
A guy who is a student, teacher & creator of (wild)Planet108.
A solar punk finding his way on the game's journey of life.
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