A Moving Picture


This is difficult.

Words came so easily to me before. I’m known for my words. But words require thought.

I lack thought. I’m full of apathy.

It’s taken a while to realize, but I never mind being alone except when I mind being alone. Everything feels better in my own time, at my own pace, of my own volition. Except it sometimes gets boring; that’s my only qualm.

So I proceed with trepidation.

The fewer words I use, the more I mean.

(In no way does this conflict with my newfound inner peace. Mere observations.)

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