Continuation of Butterflies

ronnyyoubutterfly

Well, just one more….you don’t mind, right?

The last time I wrote was probably in January.  By wrote, I mean, practiced writing by putting words onto paper in some sort of formal way.  Which ideally is an everyday ritual, but I would be happy now to manage a few times a week.  The ligaments of words and tendons of thought need stretching, and fresh circulation.  On its own, my mind is no good at that.  Paper and pen are required, or my heart just squiggles away from the slightest pressure to show itself, like mercury on glass.

I think its time to stop delaying.  “Until” is such an ugly word.  It belongs next to “should” and a few other guilt-laden conjunctions whose sole purpose is to poison the present moment with failure.  “Until my room is organized, until I am not sleeping next to box lids and clean socks, until until until…”

Throw away my socks, if you find them, but keep my notebooks and all the words.  That is where you will find me – pages and pages of the heart of me.

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