Writing for Myself

     Lately, I’ve forgotten why I write, especially since my posts are pushed onto Facebook and Twitter. I just shut that off. Too much speculation about who’s reading and what they’re getting. Fuck them! No offense.

     I write to remember what it feels like to run at night for no reason at all except that I need to be somewhere else every second. To slosh about the contents of my heart so that I don’t need to feel its inherent turbulence in the silence. I write to talk to myself when no one else will. I write to talk to those who came before me, and to address those who will come after me. I write to unshield my flame and light up a part of the world for those who care to look.

     But beyond writing for myself, I need to remember to live for myself. “Don’t do anything that’s not fun,” says DFD. So what if I live my life on my own terms? In the end, I disappoint nobody but myself. As long as I can still listen to a friend when they’re troubled or feel the sun on skin, I’ll be fine.

     Hmm. I think I’m done with this one.

     PS, Thanks to Suran and Don

  • good stuff

  • Suran

    anytime, brian! the best part is that we're all struggling together.