I am very introverted. Cut off. Disconnected and plain apathetic about life most days. But sometimes when I’m laying in bed at 11:41 on a summer night I hear the Earth and I am full. Brimming. Overflowing. There are so many elegant words to read, mountains to climb, and cups of tea to try in hopes that one will taste good. There is exploration. There is invention. There is the ability to compose; to create. And that above all, I ask you to not take for granted.
You have the ability to author in this narrow breath of existence… it will be deformed, and frightful and terribly, terribly misshapen. But isn’t that life? There will be growth. It will be beautiful. The scars; the inaccuracy of it all will be beautiful, because it proves you are here. Your scars are stories.
There is so much more of my life’s script to write.