Sup3rnality

My thoughts don't run as wild or as well as they used to. No time? Heck, I think these are just excuses. But a sliver of truth rings true; the lack of opportunities to sit down and put pen to paper - so to speak - has left my mind idle, with no fan for the flames to burn.

I refuse to say that I am consumed by work. My work is not me, I am my work - or so I believe. Perhaps I really have become my work, letting it define me. But no, I am still me, just that in my pursuit for a better life, I have not yet been able to find that gap in time to smell the roses.

But these thoughts, these words are a dying art. Perhaps not dying. They are still there. But swimming in this sea of news words - politics, murder, rape, corruption, death - I have lost the words of abstraction that lets loose the intangible thoughts.

If there's a time that you should return, it is now, Words of Mine. I miss you. I miss putting you down on these slabs of blank stone.