The tea is getting cold and that's how long I have been sitting here, watching my jumbled ideas transformed into words as quickly as they were deleted off the screen. As my fingers fly across the board of embossed letters, I am acutely aware today is the fourth day of the week and how time is a constant feature in my writing. With that being said, I am also aware that this is the sixth draft I have written and if published, it would still be weeks overdue.
I have not written anything new in awhile and it is not the fact that I have rain checked the remains of my word bank but rather, because, of you. Which makes this so darned difficult because when I write, I write for you.
For the thesis of my piece, I handpicked a few topics and tested every aspect of them to see if even one would somewhat resemble the lucid argument playing in my skull. I took 'us' apart, discarded all things fancy, put aside the romance and looked deep within those trenches, only to assemble 'us' together in a million and one ways, in search of the fundamental of you and me. There must be something more than this. There mus--
Fuck that.
I'm not going to walk you down memory lane or even attempt to pin down the words to signify what you mean to me because I had already written you a fucking book for that so be happy. Be goddammed happy.
