these days i’ve been trapped in this one sentiment, slowly circling around it like a paper boat caught in a melancholy eddy. i find scraps here and there of things i once thought. robotic sentences and half-finished paragraphs, articulations swept off the table and left scattered on the floor, to be swept up later maybe. just shuffling through the debris that piles up. i keep wondering if i’m ever going to write again, have something to say or the energy to say it. i don’t think i will.
this post is just for me. just to type something again. but it all seems a wasted effort.