EXPLAIN

I was drawn to poetry early. Somewhere the thread was lost, and I’m slowly retracing it. My prose is stale, if not utterly inefficient for transmitting an emotion. Not to mention the layered emotions that meet between hope and indifference.

But as I begin to write again, I unqualifiably “feel alive” and “like myself” for the first time in a long time. Joy in the valley.

As much as I feign independence, I value connections deeply. I share to solicit emails (messages, not addresses), and maybe we’ll become friends.