I want to write again.
I want to sit by the window till 3am, watching the snow fall in a country that is completely foreign but home all at once, and I want words to come like never before.
I want to see worlds formed with the ink of my pen.
I want to see dreams layed out before me similar in number to the stars in the sky.
I want to remember that my purpose is far greater than that which I have dreamed of.
A curiosity to revisit that country beyond maps whose contours I had once traced in my sleep
I don't remember where I read that. I read too many books and never pay attention to who they're by or what they're called.
But it stirs a longing inside me nevertheless.
Beautiful sentences always have.
It's the New Year, and I figure since it's time for new beginnings then I may just go back to my first love.
Writing makes everything else in my life so much more fluid.
oh, how he loves us so.
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