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There is something about the pure feel of creativity flowing through my veins that awakens the adventurer in me. Here's to always chasing that feeling, and searching for it, even when the spark seems to have burned out...
Days spent walking, nights spent bitter, moments spent thinking about the girl from the airplane…a long short story or a short novela, you decide. Some dark tale, written in a little black notebook while backpacking and hitch hiking through Croatia and Slovenia. Stories of walking and isolation and the ceaseless burden of darkness weighing about the neck of a boy who has seen too much.
Thoughts from a notebook, an ongoing series without rhyme, without reason, written in the back of notebooks, on bar napkins, in the echoing loneliness of a broken heart.
I often write words down on bar napkins, receipts, the palms of my hand, in the back of notebooks. They are random, in different styles, of different emotions. I am going to start a series, sharing these words, in their true fashion. They may not match, one may be poetic and another may be merely a description, but they are all part of me. I hope you enjoy
Usually crowds and tourists and hammering voices turn my heart sour and my tongue snapping. Today the moody sky and the little shivers running up my legs cool my skin, it’s as if the clouds are competing with me to be the grumpiest kid on the block. Darkness taps me on the shoulder and offers me a view through the veil.
It’s been a while. It’s been a while. These voices pierce my veins. These words leak into my bloodstream. You’ve been a while. You’ve been a while. These feelings flood my chest. These thoughts leave my head.
I stay up late and watch movies, just to feel something. My guilty pleasures are broken characters, lost loves, and small hopes, rolled into an hour and a half of an emotional roller coaster
Thoughts from the back of a notebook, from beneath the Game of Thrones castle, from beneath a statue in Croatia, from an airport in the UK, from a lake in Slovenia.