Ive been trying to write about this hole in me for a while now. How and why it got to be and how hard it was to attempt to fill and how ultimately the solution is just to leave. I never make it through the first paragraph tear-free and I never finish. I can turn and twist words for all kinds of reasons, but turning them inward has always been.. well. My track record for honesty with self aint great. I suppose one day, While im perched at a laptop or whatever sipping something deep and red and bittersweet with soft music of some sort flitting in the background ill figure that its finally time. And I’ll make my achy fingers bend and curl and stretch and pour out my middles to page and i’ll feel done. Not yet though.
Im a storyteller. And right now my most gullible, captive audience is me.