I've been wanting to post something for days. I think about writing poetry and a phrase will wander across my desert island mind and take up in a palm tree hammock. Something like this.
I fell in love in the rain drenched
months of winter and
ever since,
I have been struggling to untangle
my fingers from her hair.
I never write it down. This is probably a combination of laziness and an appreciation for the uncatalogued thought. Which seems ironic when you think about the two hundred and thirty posts on this blog, full of nothing but my cataloged musings (and the occasional F. Scott Fitzgerald quote).
Here's to two hundred and thirty-one.
