reality hits hard

its late at night and here i am again, a good 2 years after i last came here for some kind of comfort or absolution.

a few days ago i found a recording i'd made of a tape my parents had made for me as a baby of my astrological charts. i remember finding the tape at 15 and listening to it thinking that if i was something even close to the person it talked about i'd be alright.

for a bunch of reasons tonight, and every other, i am not alright.

and all i really have to say here is this. i am a writer, writer of fictions, i am the heart that you call home



and i've written pages upon pages

trying to rid you from my bones