couldn’t find my pen

and then i found it

surprising with the state of the insides of my bag.

there’s a dull ache

pressing against the edges of my brain.

i’ve yet to have a coffee, perhaps its that.

i’m poor but im not.

i live in comfort . food . bed . dishwasher . washing machine .

a dryer

it’s too expensive to run

i want some sort of life that requires risk but perhaps that involves more thought than i thought...

i look like something you’ve seen before .

even though i have purple cropped hair

i assume i am an assumption.

there’s a couple

they look fresh

like they haven’t figured out what they enjoy least about each other

yet.

i feel crazy

and yet sane

but mostly crazy

summer is coming and i’m happy about that.

i’m not happy with me yet, however.

winter gives grace to stay inside.

look at my insides.

do i want to live a life the is just enough petrol

to get from one location to the prefered?

and what does it look like to be a person who loves God?

is it living your own life really well

or is it giving everything

every.

thing.