my mind thinks too much.
dwelling on past faux paus.
often times, it's not my fault.
always thinking that i should move on.
moving on.
the circle remains a circle.
circles never really make much sense to me.
moving on never really makes sense to me.
how does one move on?
should one move on?
is it even possible?
i don't know anymore.
i'm too tired, too broken, too sore.
i ask you to write to me for a reason.
the ink and paper engages me.
holds my calloused gaze.
books serve the same purpose.
my release. positive.
i'm not lost. just merely wandering.
"not just in stories but the letters in between."
i don't wander often enough.
exorcisms. i will kill of these ghosts.
i will walk on thin ice, to just get to the other side.
i will thaw the coldness, the bitterness of my emotions.
i will waltz with the truth. i will be the lead.
i am gonna get out of this closed off circle.
the circle remains, no more.
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