Sunday Morning Thoughts: 8.19.18

There is much to write about. That I could write about.


Their faces. Their moments. The way they sway, sound and smile. Laugh and cry and love. How they wander. And how they take root. And grow. And how part of a person can be stuck in time. Frozen. The amber of the moment, if you will. And what it is to see someone you haven’t seen in ages. To hear their heart pour into words. If only just almost.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.29.17

I don’t know about you, but for me, it doesn’t take much.

Always a vastly easier task to let my mind spiral down than it making it march forward. Toxic thought, coursing about the unattended neurons. Any point in time. That which has, that which is happening and that which has not. And may never come to pass, but boy, I tell you thinking of the future in less than an optimal mind sure is something wicked.
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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.1.18

It is how we see ourselves? Or how all the others see us?

I suppose I’ve been in midst of one. Again. I suppose everyone goes through them. Periodically, until we fall down under the dirt. All this wondering about who. And the subsequent how and why. Though this wouldn’t be called a crisis. More just a query of a more intense nature. I’ve had crises before, all shapes and forms. Bet I’ve got a few more left in me as well. Just not now.
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