I miss writing so much. I know our separation is all my fault. Writing has never walked away from me, it is I who walked away from it. When ideas and characters come to visit me in the bed, as I try to drift a sleep, I either shoo them away or ask them if they could stick around until I’m done with rest.
Writing has never had any respect for a schedule. The more I try to become regimented and regular in society, the more writing hollers at me, reminds me of how much fun we had with our chaos. 4am morning spent in front of computer screens, making mind become word, speaking on behalf of what speaks to me.
My writing tells me not to be normal. There are still so many demands of adulthood and obligations that tell me I have no choice. Being torn between the two leaves me uncommitted to either. Now, I am just drifting.
Drifting around in a puddle of ideas that writing has always helped me sort. But I’m so far away from her and I don’t know if I’ve hurt her feelings. I don’t know if we can ever be what we were. And I definitely don’t know if we can ever be better than what we’ve ever been.
But I need to write. I have always needed, will always need it. Even if I can never get to the point of having her every day, next to me in a trusted journal, or representing me in a marvelous blog to the Web, I’ll take her in our chance in encounters, every now and then, for whatever it’s worth.
As long as we never completely say goodbye.
i have been rocking leggings and sweatshirts and a bun for like
i don’t even remember what i look like in heels or all done up
But real talk though, leggings are blessings.
Any day that I wake up and feel like it’s gonna be rough getting out the house I immediately think
Leggings and plain shirt and a long necklace
Leggings and hoodie and my headphones
Leggings and tank and blazer
Sometimes I end up looking pretty fly.
Thank you God for the Leggings.