...but then I became inexplicably indignant, as I sometimes do.

Because I can't always write in beautiful Kerouacian run ons or moralize in metaphor.

Sometimes I just need to record that a day happened, not my artist's rendering of its existence. Sometimes I just have to humor my own sense of universal self.

Sometimes the only thing I care about in the world is not becoming one more headstone in a sea of historical nothingness.

I happened. And I don't know why that is not enough.

ink :: graphite