I've been finding it terribly hard to write more than disillusioned rants and I've been finding it even more difficult to sit still with my thoughts.

I think about you a lot and it never fails to make me happy. Never. But I can't think about you all the time, and those moments late at night when I can't see the moon for the ceiling and I can't hear your voice for the time negative thoughts linger. And usually I let them vent, like a man professing his love by writing it in wet cement, I put thought to hand and pen to paper but now... I don't know.

I can write about you and God knows I do. God also knows I have not and hope not to run out of things to write about you. But there are other things in my mind that I wish to let out but I can't. There's a purple liquid slowly amassing to a sizeable resivior in the bottom left corner of my brain; I can feel it. It's where I store my doubts and anxieties but it's been dammed.