Embark

I need an audience, even though I'm doing this for me. I'm just not built to be meaningful alone, or to project beyond myself, despite my previous convictions on the matter. I wait to write and I don't. I cease to write and I can't. This is good, though: in cyclones my heart is lax, I have recently found. Now, intermittence unsettles stuff within me again. An agony of a good life.

But why here? Meaningful writing has a clear purpose, and I'm not with liberty to idenify why I'm here. I certainly can't, then, give you a satisfaction to why you find yourself moving both eyes left to right and slowly down at a pace of my making. Do you join me to pass seconds between better times, or to find meaning with me? Or is the meaning in the foggy drift, not the destination?

There's room for everyone as we figure this out together.

Here we
are. Let's
go.