>Found on slips of paper:

  • My mind is full of winged creatures – a haze of fluttering. How does one do away with the buzzing flies, the unsatiated mosquitoes, without harming the butterflies?
  • Why is it that when I run to a coffee shop for solace and solitude, the hum in my ear is not poetry nor music nor the hushed tones of intimate conversation punctuated by laughter, but the dull numerical drone of math? Somehow the logicality of it makes me feel further from the solution. Then wafts over…”it’s easier if you’ve seen it solved.” A single ray of light.
  • And with that, a part of herself was scraped away, leaving a raw, rough place that wept the tears she would never let herself cry.

Were they not in my own handwriting, I wouldn’t have known them as my own. But I must own that I like them – I’m proud to say I wrote those little bits of.. poetry?

I’m grateful for the little moments when I can see my writing from outside myself and remember why it’s something worth pursuing. At times, I’m not half bad at it.

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