I feel flattened drained of color like a tropical flower someone tried to press in a book. But wonder if others see my crushed outline assuming I once was a carnation or a dandelion plucked from the lawn.
I haven’t been writing anything lately. My brain is too full and too empty. I have nothing to write about and everything to write about. I’m caught between two thoughts – “I must write” and “How could I possibly write now?” I understand the feeling people have when they say they’re feeling unmoored. I am,…
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