On cakes, whales and loneliness

sometimes I bake without the intentions or the cravings setting the mood beforehand. I bake as one would mechanically brew coffee in the morning.

an attempt at finding a nameless state, at remembering what to do with the granted hours, with the functioning lungs and the feet that move on and on. 

Today, I woke up feeling both heavy and inexistante, carrying my imagineray weigh around the room, lifting this self within with my eyes like an asthmatic ghost whale, short of breath and clan-less. 

I wonder if whales feel lonely as well. I wonder if they push the ones they cherish away when they intend to express missing, wanting and needing. 

when I feel short of affection, of family, when I crave the touch of a friend .. I bake. I bake because it's pointless like everything else, but at least, it's tangible, and it fills the room with something other than needs that spirle into bizarre nothingness.