Monday, June 30, 2014

Empty nothings

The key to the heart. Is it different for everyone? Is it the same for anyone?

Lost in the words, lost in no words.

I smell like rotting discipline.

Do I need a plan? What is my plan? What would my plan be if I needed one?

The only thing that hasn't changed in my life over the past three decades is the "writer's bump" on my middle finger.

I need a storm.

Always trying to figure stuff out. Always. Rarely living. Always doing, but not the things that seem to matter. A day of "busy nothings" as they say. Sweet nothings, now those are actually something.

—Terri Guillemets