Derek Minor

Hey

It isn't really that I can't let people go. I'm fairly good at the game of solitude. It's just that some people are stickier than others. Harden up too, like the gum under the table. They stick and stay and you want them to, you know. Tomorrow. The next day. Forever. But you know they have to leave because they're not good for you. And you're not good for them. You want different things as much as you want each other but eventually one of those has to give way. If it's the first you choose, you lose them. If it's the second, you lose perspective. Goals, wants and all that essential stuff that makes your biological clock tick. The funny thing is, your biology wouldnt even agree with you. It would love nothing more than to give in to every impulse. Every carefully worded coercion. Every whisper. But therein is the idea of worth. What is worth more? Giving up what naturally beckons you to give in or giving in always, never being able to see beyond the dark wall surrounding your soul. Some people are at home in the darkness. Within that wall is all they need to see. And some feel the pull of something foreign. An irresitable scent in the distance. Familiar yet not. What is worth more? Whatever you choose apparently. Alot of us see worth after the fact. Regret becoming the measure of a bad choice. It isn't really that I can't let people go. They all leave eventually. It's just that I can't get used to it, no matter how much I do.

Muahahahahaha! I'm back! Mwahahaha*coughs* *coughs*
          For those of us that made it. Somehow, we made it. The world gets to see another sunrise. And we get to wear black. Eat soggy noodles. Regret our life choices. Use less water. Eat more noodles. Scam our way into more money. Eat less noodles. Slip on banana peels. Smile awkwardly. Cheat death again and again and again until we can't.

Hear ye, hear ye, *fancy talk* your loving attention would be great for a quick peep at this. 
          A wonderful/otherwise evening to you all, depending on what you're into.
          I just published "Obsessions" of my story "On A Pedestal". https://www.wattpad.com/1403724425?utm_source=android&utm_medium=profile&utm_content=share_published&wp_page=create_on_publish&wp_uname=DerekMinor&wp_originator=gcPedAHpU%2BMi0upb0WUYeJgxTJYJCscjJUgtc1LMsy0khtUHpl5TmBkFSwDZkXPIwPqPpbLQrXoD27MlYwcxb%2F5C3MEFj7XeOir6u%2FPM3KFrC1%2FS9vSjpLSo9mZQddyK

Ta da
          I just published "Goodness Me!" of my story "On A Pedestal". https://www.wattpad.com/1396258933?utm_source=android&utm_medium=profile&utm_content=share_published&wp_page=create_on_publish&wp_uname=DerekMinor&wp_originator=UeAIgH6NkKw7eUXPj5S8bSF%2FPXlmv3D3qygeH3N1Fv4BAMVoiVRLw9aAb9gi9PTvKOea9u3wPD2JSmVSvy%2BzHf5eN8oc3IvQYX2Vfi7uns%2Fi6kr10YW5udeRei00EM8B

https://www.wattpad.com/story/353106015

I kind of miss the days when we would roam
          Park side cafe stores, then back to mine
          Almost every time 
          What a sweet, sweet day to roam
          Golden undertones 
          Oh it's good to be home
          Oh it's good to be home

Suddenly noticed the beautiful rings in the beautiful photo up top — love them, why didn’t I notice before?

An inquiry; If the stories you write could become real, would you write them any different?

I am not an author. I am not a poet. I am not some winsome wordsmith whimsically wooing with witticisms and woundrously wielding weighty words. I am a writer simply because I write. Don't think me arrogant. I didn't say a great writer or even a good one. Nonetheless I still write. I write because I hate my reflection. Sometimes mirrors lie. But when I put pen to page, and who I will become. I can't hide when I write. The thoughts that I pen stare back at me; glading truth. And the truth is I like what I see. I am a writer because writing is what makes me feel. I am a writer because it's what makes me real.
          
          ~T.I. Kigali.~