There was a flower and it was beautiful.
i remember watching it sway in the breeze.
it stood proudly, watching over the valley.
i can‘t remember where this was.
it didn‘t know where it was.
i can‘t remember the .
There was a
and it was beautiful.

It can be hard for me to continue a conversation sometimes. Even though I‘m invested. It might be because I‘m a slow thinker. I‘ve seen that myself or it‘s because I lack the words to describe it.

I want to stick to a topic until it‘s been run dry. But I love tangents. I go on little side stories before circling back to the original topic before asking what we were talking about. I need to consume more words, is my guess.

Sometimes it‘s difficult to go outside. It‘s my brain doing stuff. I just stay in my bedroom and listen to music. I like listening to music. I love music. I think music is what makes us, us. Music changes my mood quickly. I like listening to upbeat music, but I do prefer slower, calmer music. I love jazz. Jazz makes my brain think. I can‘t seem to predict it always. That‘s the jazz I love. Music can be so predictable. It saps the fun out of it for me.

I think a piano is a powerful instrument. It‘s a centrepiece and complements others if needed instead. A piano and violin is my favourite duo. Piano by itself is sombre and melancholic; if it‘s alone, it‘ll always be alone, even with it doing everything it can. I‘ve had piano lessons. When I was a kid I wanted to be a drummer, but somehow I ended up on the piano. I like a piano. I‘m just not good. My fingers are weird. Rigid and stiff and pop into place. With enough dedication I can play a song or so, but with how my hands operate. It‘s hard to focus.

For years I thought pain while walking was normal until I heard that humans were made for walking. Apparently my feet are badly designed. Stand for a few minutes and they hurt, walk for long and they burn. It burns my soles. I picked up running recently. My feet hurt at first, then I switched shoes. Now my shins hurt.

I like when my body feels sore. After going to the gym. I feel some accomplishment feeling sore, I pushed my body. I think it‘s why I don‘t cut. From what I‘ve felt, physical pain doesn‘t stop me as much as how my brain feels. My body wants it, my brain says otherwise. Sometimes it‘s difficult for me to go outside.

I spilt my protein shake on the floor and it bummed me out.

To write a story from scratch, with only a memory from years ago, it takes me a while to get my brain rolling.
I dont write much, i dont read much either. I love stories however. I love to think of stories, new ideas or imagining already made up stories in my head.
When i do read i can imagine what lays in the text. Thats what i love about stories.
I want to write something serious, not fully of course, but something that doesnt go over the top with crazy power-ups or deus ex machina stuff. I‘m not a big fan of that.
I‘ve thought of a magical world with magic arms, adventure but a mafia boss investigation. The main characters, experienced enough wizard and a younger man with extra blue arms he can summon on his body, eventually discovering that the blue arm man is actually the mafia boss, only to be gutted by him moments later.
I like fantasy, but I cant think of nothing original enough that would make it stand out.
Last summer, while driving under some moonlight, I imagined someone using runes to conquer the moons energy, summoning destructive beams of light, hálfmáni eða fullt tungl. Whatever fit. I wanted it to be nordic to an extent, icelandic drawn.
That was only just a thought for that drive and a few other nights.
Years ago, I wrote a story about a little piggy, who found a rusty trumpet, a talking trumpet, who told the piggy about the evil sock puppet wizard who was going to take over the world. The piggy brought adventure friends, talking knight fish and a walking flower mage.
That was supposed to be a one time thing in one class. I had barely made it halfway, as i was focused on a detailed enough story. It had to be rushed.
Then, in english class, we were assigned to write a 500 word childrens book with illustrations. I decided to take that story, rewrite in english and before long, I had overshot the limit and asked for a short extenstion. I wrote 1000 words in total. It still felt rushed. I‘ve lost it now.
In the end, there was no hard fought battle against the evil sock puppet wizard, they just beat him. Deus ex machina.