​It's been a while now
 since I've had courage again to put my thoughts into ink. Put ink into words and words onto pages. I've slipped into the current of time because I knew no other way, which is funny. Why my fear of immensity turned around to embrace me in a time like this? When all my fears turned true. Turned around and turned true. Once again I write in hieroglyphs to capture the thread in its weave, but i still miss the bigger picture- the point of it all. What is the point? That everything has changed, yet at the same time, nothing at all has moved. Feet stuck in the mud for years now despite how many times I've outrun my shadow. Albeit the time I escaped from my own skin. I'll always be in flight. I'll turn away from judgement and from the truth. But this constant rummage in my head for answers feels tiring, there's always a question that lingers in a shadow to pounce on my battered head, and there's only one reason for all those questions and for that, old friend, you can go to hell.
