I would love to be one of those people who fill their notebook to the brim with all of my pretty thoughts, so carefully planned. I think I'd even have a favorite pen. Black ink, 0.5mm, which I've found to be the smoothest between the millimeters. I'd like to think I would even write in cursive if I actually practiced enough. I'd gather my highlighters and stickers, maybe grab a cup of my favorite tea. Though, if you asked me my favorite kind, I wouldn't even be able to tell you.
I've tried the pen and paper path as many times as I've written here. My many partially filled journals can attest to this. The idea is so concrete, I'd mess up and tear out the page, crumbling it up and throwing it across the room as if to say; "my thoughts don't matter today. Not in this way." I just can't seem to get past the perfectionism of it all. My computer is a breath of fresh air, allowing me the space to breathe in with each word typed and breathe out with each word erased.
YOU ARE READING
Paracosm
Poesía{PAR-uh-kahz-um} (n.) A detailed imaginary world created in the mind, often as a means of escape or solace, filled with its own people, places, and stories. | this book is quite the contrast. I shared my thoughts a really long time ago. I'll start...
