It feels as though each chapter I write becomes a thin book on the shelf of a library, for a few to find and connect with
This is a form of therapy for me, publishing is simply letting go.
Idk what I'm doing. It's just a random book that is a journal and an art book, maybe even a rant book.
I'm not sure why, but this trash is being read.
2020 JOURNAL ENTRIESSSSSSSSS--
Jk jk--
So... I hope you will find this interesting (?)