You know that feeling you get way deep down inside in the pit of your stomach. It feels like the cold of the night rushing in unexpectedly. It taste like a sour grape limp and rotting in your mouth. Smells like the bottom of an lifeless pond. That feeling of overwhelming despair?
I hide it well. In the curve of my smile, the high pitch of my laughter. In the causal stride of my walk, but my body is in knots. Twisted as if wringing the last drop of water from a wash rag, I couldn’t dare stay out in the open for to long. At any moment the despair I’m controlling so well is going to break out of me like the opening song of some theatrical musical.
I can only hold on for so long.

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things……..

I never learned that whole poem. In fact I think I only knew that part from a movie (Harriet the Spy), but somehow I find myself quoting that whenever I am about to make a big decision. I talk to myself about many things all the time, in fact I think all writers do. I find myself formulating an undisputable argument as to why I am deciding to do whatever it is I have decided to do. Like now, I’m sitting here trying to convince myself that it’s ok to write a new story. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, I think of new stories all the time…..in fact I have so many new stories that I have yet to complete one hahaha. So the time has come, my conscious says, to finish many things……like poems and verses and songs you never sing….