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I miss having a solid place to write. I started this because I ran out of space in my journal, but what I thought would be remedy hasn’t manifested itself. I miss having a place where I could just let my hand go and write what needed to be said. extracting the gunk from my brain through the pen onto the page. sure, I could buy another journal, but seeing the state of the world, I haven’t been motivated to. I pray my transition into the digital age will be a graceful one, but my heart will always lay with the book full of blank pages. I looked back in old journals yesterday looking for something salvageable for my show. I found usable bits, but I also found the crazed state my brain was in back then. reading it made me deny what it said as much as it made me accept it more. I don’t know what to think, but it won’t happen yet, if ever. and if it does, I don’t think it will for awhile. either way, I’ll keep having dreams of you where our reality doesn’t exist and you love me like my brain wants you to, but until then, I’ll see you on the other side.