It seems rather strange at this point. To write out my thoughts or otherwise speak in these foreign rhythms, I imagine it’s better to express in some form than negate a form altogether. And the initial expression had felt pretty damn good as it felt entirely liberating to express whatever the hell I wanted. After all, it was my experience, however the journey was ours. It was mysterious and yet, casual. Causal in form and mysterious in nature. It didn’t just exist… There was a flow to it. If you caught the drift. Meanwhile I had a desire to figure the whole thing out. I was doing well. So far, so good, it seemed.
No form, perhaps, seemed naive. I was thinking we were. And it wasnt so it always had been, entirely.