Patchwork

A dozen drafts lie scattered around my computer, all trite nonsense and feigned spirit. The truth is all I do is sleep. The truth is this room is a mess, this heart is a mess, the truth is no Instagram filter in the world can make this look right but it's only life, no more no less. 

I pick up the clothes from the floor. Fold up the knitwear for storage. Start somewhere. 

Eventually you'll get where you're going.