I am not a writer. I am human being in need of a mode of expression. But with age, I have gotten more diligent and specific about what I express.
Loneliness and melancholy drove me into being a creatively productive person. All I needed was a medium. I am incapable of making music and I can’t write poetry either. So I took to writing as my other option, speaking, I perceived, and still do, lacked contemplation and longevity.
Like you and everyone else, I am a convoluted being. And the loneliness, sporadic bouts of depression, wistfulness, like everything else are a part of my being. I have learned to love and accept them. I do not understand life any more than you do. I only understand myself, partially.
So, at any given day, I might be a certain person and feel certain things. I try to understand what is making me tick that way and how to make the most out of it and love it. I have enjoyed approaching others with the same attitude.
Oui, whatever she said. Except for bigots, can’t stand those fuckers. Now allow me to present the penis analogy. Like, when you are young you spend a lot of time worrying about how big it is and how you can make it better, bigger I mean. Haha. But y’know that really doesn’t help you in bed and not every woman likes a big slong. So you just gotta accept you have what you have and put time into understanding “what makes it tick”.