I forgot how cathartic writing can be for me. Writing is an art that I have not touched base with in a long time, except for academic purposes. To express one’s self with words is to open up a door of so many possibilities. I love being launched into an alternate universe or to swim in the depths of what the words bring to life. Yesterday I went to my public library for the first time in what felt like ten years. There were two nails in my tires and the auto shop I dropped it off at was down the street from where I lived, so I decided to take a stroll in my neighborhood. It felt nice interacting with the people passing by and seeing up close the buildings I used to pass by every day growing up. The library looked...sad. The shelves were stripped of everything and it was organized in a way that did not look like how it once did. There was more space, but somehow it accentuated the fact that the building itself was very small. Maybe before I was distracted by all of the clutter that I could not focus on the actual dimensions of the building. Anyway, I said hi to the librarian I’ve seen since I was in fourth grade doing book reports. I walked up and down the aisles to see how libraries even display their books these days. It was definitely limited in selection, but as I eventually gravitated towards the section of books that I normally do, I did not realize how many of them I had already read. Reading use to be one of my passions. I am guilty of having a stack of books to read in the “In progress” pile but life gets in the way and sometimes I can read maybe 10 pages at 1am if I’m feeling really ambitious. This might be something to go back to soon...I miss books. I miss writing. I’ve strayed away from this for so long. Well I’m back baby
titsay
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton
dededos
