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.)