All I can give you is the past. Found things, distant musings – pieces of someone I used to be.
NO. That’s wrong. I still am everything and more, stifled. Still as much love, I just don’t say it as much. Still as much creativity, I just can’t find it as easily. Still as much passion, and more – I just – I just…
I just want my own home. I just want at least that comfort. I need that space, that place. A place of mine, unshared bed of someone elses, no overhead lights – they illuminate way too much. I yearn for a laptop battery that lasts more than a fucking cigarette. Soon, it will come. Things I’m working on, not sitting idly by.
Gonna change the whirrled.