A Note

 It’s been a whole year since I wrote last. 

I couldn’t tell you where the time went. It’s been a long, exhausting year, and I never thought about picking up the proverbial pen until now. 

Some things don’t change, and the idea of writing comes in the dead of night. Uncertain if it comes from the dread of winter or a place of healing. Maybe somewhere in the middle. 

I wish I was the more consistent person I want to be, and alas my flaws stare me in the face. However, some things do change (a lot has this year), and I’m wondering if the tone of my words may have shifted. 

The act of composing has always been for myself, it reaching someone else that needs it (because I couldn’t expect someone to enjoy it?), an afterthought. And so as my eyes get increasingly strained from the light of my phone against the darkness of my room, I (indecisively) hope that the writing comes back to me.  Ideally maybe not at 12:30 in the morning when I have to be awake by 7. 

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