bourree.

My fingers have never been so blistered. The pain is most exhilarating. I haven't felt this alive in years. I can't even begin to understand how I allowed myself to become such an ingrown hair on this life's body, slowly pushing my way from under the skin. Never quite strong enough to puncture and escape. And then I did escape. Inhale.

I play my mandolin for several hours a day. It is as if I realized I am worth something. I begin to remember that it is not so much the difference I make in the lives of others as it is the difference I make in my own. Survival of the fittest. I'm located somewhere in the middle of the food chain, at this point standing. I have no distinct reason or goal to make it to the top, however, if my actions take me there, I could not refuse such a position.

My insomnia is no longer caused by stress. It is fueled by a will to learn, grow, want more, more, more. Quickly, make up for the lost time. Create. Disperse. Smile and wave. Exhale.

I want to fuck Johann Sebastian Bach.