Here I am, writing about my past. I'll try not to let the nostalgia get the best of me. This description of my life will be based upon not only what appears to be everyday for me, but exactly three days ago. There I was, sitting in my bed, not necessarily in a sad mood, but more of a lonely state of being. I was lost in my mind. Lost thinking about what was only the best thing to have ever happened to me. Now that thing is gone. It is dead to me. That thing was the one and only Doctor King Matthew Alexander. A dear friend of mine, certainly with a funny name.
How could I have made myself feel better. The music I've been using to relate myself to was now overused and meaningless. Of course, as most artistic people seem to do, I picked up the book. The book of songs I had been creating. I opened to a new page imagining all of the different variety of things I could of written. The fear of the blank page. The first word is the base of all that is written.
I began to write. I wrote like there was no tomorrow. It felt amazing. All the anxiety had been released on my papers.
The End.
This post has some lovely moments. I would like more concrete details, though - ones that connect to the senses. Much of this post happens in your head.
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