What I really want to know is what it means to be a writer.
I mean, how the pros do it, hour by hour, no cease to exist button.
Looking out the window, the shape of a brachiosaurus - a shadow in the trees- I took a picture. Taking pictures is so much easier when it's light outside. A time when I'm usually not awake.
I haven't spoken to Seurat in about a month now. Ironic, Seurat knows more about me than anyone else. Too bad he can't make sense of anything.
The shape of the dinosaur morphing into one of those creatures that looks like they have a rectangle on their head. Leaves on the trees undulated knowingly.
Bubbles bubbles from the deep.
Something moves; a scent of past swing-dancing parties. Twirling around, placated, I would feel myself in the air flying, especially with people who knew how to lead. Losing myself, I never felt dizzy, just exhilarated, like I was doing exactly what I should be doing in that moment.
Through dance I could be my true self and with a dance partner by my side, I never felt alone.
