i seem to write most about things that are melancholy. in a conversation with myself the other day, the Critic asked me if i knew how to express anything other than woulda, coulda, shoulda.
flaws, cracks, wrinkles, smudges, bruises, sorrows, have always smacked me in the face until i can only point them out in painful detail. overandoverandover. this will probably never change. as i explore the thoughts of others, after so many years of self-imposed banishment, i am suddenly remembering. there are sunsets, sunrises, frost on the trees, moss on rocks, alters in the woods, grafitti etched in stone, splodges of paint, spontaneous hugs and new discoveries shared with my imps, snapshots, signs along the way, ingenious ideas that fill me with electricity.
i am remembering. hurray for internet.