I didn’t realize I’d been silent here for so long. I’ve had plenty in my head, just no real will to write it down and I don’t know why.
Sweeping nostalgia and melancholy drown my coherent thoughts; heavy rain tends to encourage this. I unearthed some old writings today, by a click of dumb luck and I’ve been at the coffee shop reeling for the last hour or two.
As I sit here with my empty cup of lavender tea, I wonder: will I always handle self-reflection best with a pen in my hand? It’s like the feelings aren’t validated unless written by my hand. I must write all of my emotions down with whimsy, veracity and honesty so biting I won’t be able to help the eye-roll when I re-read my own words.
I’m thankful for the awful music and loud chatter in here, it’s aiding in keeping my brain at bay…the things I read today could really use analysis and this isn’t the place.
Or maybe it is. Until I can muster up the courage to summarize the things my eyes have seen today, I shall contemplate the various ways one could illustrate the phrase “silent as the grave,” because sometimes zipped lips are better than loose ones….ships sail longer that way.