Messed Up Sheets
I am unable to write these days. I am not really sure why. There are all these thoughts and ideas rushing around in my head but they don’t seem to find sentences or structure. One thing I have noticed is that I sometimes write from the painful areas of my life. At this time, there isn’t much of that to inspire me. Right now, I am content in so many incredible ways.
The problem is that I need to write regardless. I need to force these words from me if necessary, birthing them with hard work and energy. It is just, when they don’t flow naturally, when they don’t just spill from me, I don’t appreciate them nearly as much.
Maybe I should attempt to scribble some lines about what is fleeting across my thoughts these days. Its a lot of images of disheveled pillows, grainy videos, and steamy mirrors. There is happiness in them. There are dreams of tall buildings and bustling traffic. Overshadowing it all is a smile.
I just don’t think people like to read about perfection.