I don’t write like that. I write in crevices of earth. I write in loops like vultures manifesting fear in the sky. I write when I have nothing else to do, when all other avenues of entertainment have been sucked dry. I write infrequently, in tiny bursts of inspiration, like the spaces between breaths. I can’t seem to write without a computer anymore. My thoughts scribble themselves out on the page, and I am left only with ink stains on my hands.
April Xiong, “Where I Write #21: On the Edge of Sky and Sea”
(Source: therumpus.net, via leopoldgursky)
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