I'm not sure how to start talking in text today. I have a laundry list of things to share, stories to ramble, words to spin. If you want to be a writer, you write. Sounds simple, and yet I look at my fingers and wonder if they'll be the key, my escape path., a way to the top.
My platonic wife says I write beautifully, even if it's sometime in code. My mother says I have talent. Meanwhile I cut into soft flesh with simple little keystrokes and try to capture the monsters.
For now, my 10 minutes have fled and I've got to run to class. Love me anyway? Always?
- K x
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