I'd rather fall asleep with you in my arms, if you were a book

I'm weary of blogging, perhaps because I don't know who's reading and how much of this is to myself and how much of this is to others. There are a lot of bottled up emotions, bottled up thoughts, and bottled up actions that I cannot express because it's too inhumane to express them.

What am I saying? Who knows. Who cares.

I revert to the old ways of writing. With a pen. With a journal. With pages and lines and the smooth calmness that ignites when one embraces the other.

Once upon a time, I tried writing a book.