My attempts to write a short narrative last night left me depressed and unsettled. Where is my mind? Every time I try to open it up, it constricts itself to an impossible, tangled mess. I can hardly sleep at night with out wondering where I had gone, where I had put it all. I keep wondering about everyone else around me, if they're as lost as I am. If they feel as if they've failed as awfully as I have. Have I?
It's so easy to try and forget things altogether and pretend it's always summer and we'll always waste the days away fucking around. But there are some days, like today, no matter how sunny it is outside, I can't shake the rest off.
Last night I created two characters that I am growing a fondness for. I need to keep writing, I need to keep writing, I need to keep writing.
It's so easy to try and forget things altogether and pretend it's always summer and we'll always waste the days away fucking around. But there are some days, like today, no matter how sunny it is outside, I can't shake the rest off.
Last night I created two characters that I am growing a fondness for. I need to keep writing, I need to keep writing, I need to keep writing.
