writing.

Do you remember writing notes in class?

I remember when we figured out we could pass notes in pens.

It started out with markers. Hella juvenile because, like, who needs an orange magic marker for 6th grade notes? Right?

Future twisters found their early calling, rolling those notes up so tight that you could pass them in the body of any brand of ballpoint.

That’s why I write.

Because I have to.

Because I want to and you are telling me I can’t/shouldn’t.

I write because I want to.

I write because I have to.

I write like I breathe.

Everyday. Without failure, until I do. Without failure, until I must.

This is very much me, and I do not feel the need to find another reason to explain myself, other than I want to. Very much. We’ll get to that…

Fuck with me, or don’t. I have a lot to say. Feel free to change the channel.

Anytime.

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