There is a strange essence to this.
My mind begins to wander,and I must chaperone my thoughts back to where they began, and it is so strange.
To soothe the perpetual insecurities that feel me when I let my thoughts grow too big for their homes.
Within this bizarre turn of favours and inconsequential matters I think that I like where it has taken me.

The act of words, in a rush, in a lull.
A vital passage.
When words escape, or that they never came to existence is how I feel for moments at a time when we’re together.
I feel there may be some sweet sense of irony within it.

I hear within my friends the words that I have heard within me.
The ones I have written, the ones that I have thought would be theirs, and words that are, to me, completely foreign.
That I’d have never assumed.