Custom dresses, coordinated transactions. Spinning in a dead sea. The current washes over me.
I’ve been writing all the time, but sometimes only in my head – and I don’t choose to grab my phone’s notes app or a pen and paper. I think about all of the work only ever produced in my head- the poems before sleep, prim and proper, romantic in their essence — never to be distributed. Even if it’s on a tiny corner of the internet, it’s mine.