The point is you’re a placeholder; the point is I am not quite here. The point is spring does with my soul magic tricks that leave no room for shoe horns and extra miles, if you are not running in step you are bound to be a hundred miles behind.
I want to be patient and see beyond the smoke screen, I want to build a nook in my home where you may sit, and grow, and slowly become accustomed to the whimsy of the wallpaper, but I’ve run out of fuel and am propelled by fireworks now, I am all exclamation points and your ellipses don’t even make a dent
in my
periphery.
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Sifting through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way.
About Me
- Cajsa
- "If I can go to New York, live madly, and write. I will want for Nothing."
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