It is getting colder, I think I need one more pair of socks. I have them. I tried to read. It made me realize I want to write.

To Myself

I realize I don’t know where to start. It’s been years. No actual reason. No ‘block’. Just a lot of lost…

Thoughts.

I believe for a while there was too many. And then there was nothing.

I’m not unsure of the story. Just not sure why I feel compelled to tell any of it in the first place. It’s just life. -sinking ship-“oh well.”

What can be achieved by unearthing the past?

Maybe it’s conceitedness

Maybe it’s love

Maybe it’s grief

Either way, it’s truth be told.