when you start writing

and the more you write

the more depressed

you feel, and you think

this is all about me

and no one else, and you know this (piece of writing) is all about the past, it is stale, if it is breathing at all what it is breathing is far from being the breath of life.

when you write something and you realize setting down each word is like pulling teeth. Your mind and your heart are screaming, this is not worth it. If I am writing something down just to impress someone, then what is the point?

And so I abandoned a little essay a few minutes ago. It was about a me that does not exist any more. My soul has taken flight, and I am not confined to the little box I constructed for myself.

To live in the past is to not live at all. Each day is a new creation. To waste time trying to impress anyone is absurd. We are only on this planet for a little while.

I want friends. What you read here is who I truly am.  Now the crows are speaking to me from the woods in back. My spirit birds telling me, now you are on the right path.

 So this writing is what I am sharing with you instead.