It's a beautiful day
There is so much noise around me
It's almost impossible to draw or write.
I seem to have forgotten noise.
I have tried to live in a couple of noisier cities than here, but it was never so noisy.
I always have found that corner, that spot,  that thought.
But now, here, every horn feels louder, ever vehicle without a silencer. Every bump in the road, ah well. I think I overrated moving here. Home is where the hearth is. But my hearth is amiss at the moment. 
I travel by buses to curb the feeling. I try to hide behind a book, as I always have. I work late into the night. I hide behind the bathroom door or the headphone set, as I always have. As I always have, was years ago. Can it still be the same. Sleep is a reprieve. Is it my book or my mind.
My dreams wake me. Sometimes they take me.