lukewarm coffee.

I read a 400 page book in a day. Today. I've been reading more lately. I don't know if it's for some silly notion of escaping harsh realities or if I've just happened to get lucky with the last few books I've picked up. I often feel I can never compose myself the way I wish I could...to allow my internal discussions to become words instead of feelings. More so than before, I read a single line that clicks and manages to sum up what hours of unspoken contemplation cannot articulate. And, in its own way, these words allow me a solidarity with the other things that think and breathe and live. Never dogeared for quick reference, but a fleeting connection while pursuing something more tactile.

You could expect some sort of flustered attack with furrowed brow and resentful, childish punches (bc, well, I guess I'm mildly abusive in the corner.) I just. I just have so much to say and nothing to say at the same time.