Was it the cold nip on my legs that lead me to those nights, waiting in line for the club, and how difficult it was to wait with such a desire to be noticed.
What did it mean to be young and so full with thoughts of men? What would you say of a man who wanted to be wanted?
It’s totally useless, how amazed I was at the bird, swooping back and forth in a reoccurring U-shaped flight, in between the branches of the tall pine, over and over again. My amazement has no bearing to the night or to men. My amazement has no meaning. It is completely empty, as I am alive, watching a bird, as I am dead watching men.
Inside this blog are writings of poetry, journal entries, fiction, non-fiction, and other blurbs created to practice writing and find inspiration for the novel I one day hope to write.
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