memories seem to resonate in my mind. so tangible, i feel like they are happening all over again. can i ever get those things back?

poetry, you are to me.

lots of waiting...

taking pleasure in the little things.

calm after a storm.

yes, i am writing you down.
but you already know that... dont you?

the smells of summer,

"reflecting"

rapture,

i feel like i am finally away from that. but what really can i say?
freedom is not the point. freedom is not the point. freedom is not the point.

still here?
nothing is coming out right.