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.

There is a chaos in the air, an overwhelming stimulation of senses. They scatter like dust motes suspended in sunlight as I move. I poke at them with a finger, a lost crow in a green field. The only one left after the murder has flown.

A scattered array of words wrapped in a brooding skin, in flesh trained to move, a mind vacant and staring.

I fill it with half truths and start to run.

I have no purpose to these thoughts except to let the words out, to feel empty again.

After I don’t feel as tired.

But I feel spent.

Two of the same things carried in opposite hands, believed to be different, living for a moment.

I don’t think you understand, how difficult it is to figure out how to be more than you are, how to be anything but what you are, how to be alive.

You just take a breath, listen to your heart beat in your chest. Is it that simple?

You don’t write about travel anymore, you don’t write about new experiences, you just clear the bullshit from your head and flood the page with ink.

Is that enough? Is it enough to be thoughtless, to let words flow from burning fingertips, to not have any plan?

My words are like my life, unedited, un-thought out, unfinished.

That’s the way I like them, it’s more like me.

You won’t get it, but when I read this back to myself, I will.