i think about it
about why one needs it. where does one go to find it? what of when it cannot be found?
i look around. i keep an open heart. and eye. and mind.
all i feel is calm. and the promise of something.
i think then, about happiness. about how it has often inhibited me from writing. from how there are less words that way. wouldn’t you know, all the crap writing as of late–it stems from such a good place.
such a good, good, good, place.
and in this i am conflicted by a trade: words for happiness.
it doesn’t quite seem fair.
maybe it’s time (high high time) i introduce discipline.
can one make the time? is it attainable? where does one go for writing prompts?
where does one find inspiration.