maybe i'm simply not a writer.
when i see this blank window, most of my inspiration falls away. the only thing i can think to do here is vent, and that just isn't who i am. i wish i was in the proper head space to write the way i'd like to. i suppose it comes from having my high school friends slip between my fingers. i'm alone if lover is around. i hardly interact or speak with anyone outside of work besides lover and family. so my thoughts swim are left around in my head until they dissolve. my job dissipates any potential daydreaming. it starves it, and leaves no room aside from my objective of the day which washes away my entire being for 8 hours.
i'm waiting for the next chapter of my life to begin,
but i will have to wait until summer.
my wanderlust has taken hold of me, it watches each hour pass excitedly, knowing that the dull moment that just existed will be one less i will have to experience in this city.
21 will be my year. i can feel it. regardless of liquor, i have a feeling 21 might be the year this all starts to take shape.
it's not even christmas, and i already can't wait until june.
