I think about writing all the time.
I think, what would I write?
I um....
I....
There doesn't seem to be any way to corral my thoughts into any cogent order. And for why, anyway? It seems unlikely that putting words down will make any difference to the kerfuffle.
There is grief and anger and sadness and emptiness, alongside fear and worry and anxiety. Guilt and remorse are shouldering their way in, next to hope and wonderment and anticipation.
Mundanity and sparks.
Boredom and peace.
Emptiness and contentment.
Who knows?
No comments:
Post a Comment