and with a twitter which i use significantly more than i blog here, so go there.
i’ve been told i should write more, that it’ll open up my upper faculties, and no matter how difficult that may be, it’s necessary. i agree.
it’s strange that i’m so much better at rambling disconsolately when i’m emo but now that i kinda have my head together, i struggle to find the words. i grope for them blind, not in perpetual darkness but in light which blocks out the shape of things. so my hands reach, gently run themselves across the surfaces and try to discern their shape by feel alone.
it’s surprising but i feel like i can almost make them out, if anything, i’m glad that they’re even still there, waiting.
like an old friend with the right bottle of whisky. like family. like love should be.
more on finding my way back to a more fulfilled and less insane place soon. and i mean it this time. no dennis the menace.