Collected Thoughts

I wrote this the other day for impulsedriven. I still haven't found my egg timer but I played two minutes of a song and wrote to that. The song had no effect on what I wrote.

Everything is behind the cut. I was a little iffy on things because I got...I got weak and backed off from what I was writing. God knows why usually I go at it with gusto but for some reason, this just...I got self concious for some reason.

For those of you in discourse, read it again. There's some stuff behind the tag.

Due South. Fraser.



warning: death

Home is where there is no more. Home is…nothing. There is only this gaping hole where you used to live and where you want to go back. But there's nothing now. Home has never had walls or a roof, you made your home where you made your heart. You look down, hold your hat in your hand. Twist it. No place to hang it. No place

(home)

This isn't literal. It's all death and loss and love and helplessness.