I've never liked single pages as much as I adore a bulky book.
a good messy, rough written collection of notes, writing pieces all scattered in a book, that would mean nothing and look insane to the person next to me.
I can't help but reminisce on the days where I sat in the chaotic passenger seat with nothing but my bare legs dangling out the window, and a old pen I coincidentally had in a pocket of my bag. writing about the Euston Road traffic I encountered in that very moment in time and how I dreamt to be nowhere else but here.
I wanna write all the time, I think that's a sign, I just like having the thoughts present. presently I'm not thinking, I'm just writing. someone might find a piece I wrote, they might adore me, or completely don't.
nevertheless I do have this immense need to share it. It's currently Tuesday night, 11:44pm to be exact. its the 4th of October 2022.
one day I might feel the need to connect to my own comfort, so I'll just read back on this piece of writing. I'll most likely find something I wish to change, but I won't.
