it's hard to write these days. my mind is cluttered with leaving, breaking, finishing, pressing, tearing, caressing... you call in the mid day hours out of a misty moisty mind, fogged up and clouded. the message appreciated, the inappropriateness secretly savored. after all, there is a spot inside that felt abandoned and not worth the trouble after all. to hear you rants soothe that spot, make it cum in glory.
everything is getting almost too much, too many things that could and should be done and completed and just not enough time or effort to do so.
it's easy to retreat into willy wallowing moments of motion that deal with the heart, and heart only.
sometimes i stop and read past posts. full of colorful language and passion.
and then i feel like i just don't know what to say anymore.
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