Not for children
2230 I never know what I’m about to write. I write whatever comes to mind. I write because I can, because I should, because what else is there to do when you’re alone?
Sometimes, I draw. But usually, I write. Sometimes, I solve the Rubik’s cube. Sometimes, I watch a show, or read, or call a friend. But in the end, I always have to write.
“They always were. And they will always be,” she says to me. She doesn’t know she’s all there is to me.
Sometimes a half-a-sentence says it all.