I’m struggling for words.

It’s been so long since I’ve been able to push out anything remotely coherent. I’ve started therapy to try and work out some issues, maybe she can fix this writers block I’ve seemed to carry for years. Why would anyone ever want to be a writer? The imaginative and creative process is such a fickle thing. It’s quite destructive. I feel like shit when I don’t write and I write like shit when I do write. It’s so turbulent in my head. I wish I could explain. Although, I’m not some special flower, there is someone out there who knows exactly what I feel. So anyway, I guess the point is that I wrote a tiny little blurb. It’s about love or something stupid like that. Enjoy. Or don’t.
Your kisses, they taste different. They no longer breathe a world of life into my soul. They no longer set fire upon my skin. I don’t feel it anymore. That spark, the ignite. This may not be a bad thing. They taste like a fresh morning, a new start. They taste like sunshine after a rain storm, clean and lovely. The fever is gone, the rush, the vivid flames. Now it’s replaced with a safeness, a comfort. Oh how I love the flavor of 2 am conversations, of waking up slowly to find each other under the sheets. It’s a new feeling, a new journey that I’m finding to be a delight. Please, kiss me more often, I crave that new sensation. Your kisses, they taste different.


I want to bid Farewell to the Summertime Sadness

For no discernible reason other than wanting to see my thoughts typed on a screen, I have come back. I have come back to tell a new story. A new tale of woe, so to speak. I’m trying to appeal to the readers, if there are any out there. I want to become a better writer, so I guess that means I shall have to write more. A lot more if I ever want to make anything of value.

It’s always around this time of year that I find myself growing disconnected from my friends and my general life. I start to ache with a strong need of something new and exciting. Something that never ends up coming my way. I frequent my room more often and I bury my mind into books. I staunch off invitations to leave the safety and comfort of my home and I pass up opportunities to spend time with loved ones. In short, I become a hermit. A time to reflect, to think, to create. It aggravates the hell out of people, or at least it used to. I know exactly the cause, and I know most of you will find it ridiculous and absolutely absurd, but it’s a hundred percent true, I promise.

It’s the weather.

Here in good ole’ Florida, it is an astonishing ninety degrees outside with the promise of seventy five in the evening. It’s September, which means that every freaking retail store in the state is already starting to get ready for “Fall”. Pumpkin spice flavours everything from drinks to candy. Everything is orange and black and of course Halloween decorations have started to litter the shelves.

I hate it. It’s hot. Whilst the rest of the country and world have started to cool down in terms of temperature, we have just started to become more humid, more unbearable. I hate the heat, I always have. I have always found that I am more active, more creative and definitely happier when the weather is cooler. I don’t understand it, but it’s true. I get so excited when it cools down. I get to wear jackets and scarves. I get to have fires out on my patio. It’s not miserable to go on a hike outside. Everything feels better. But at this point in time, I am stuck in limbo. I am stuck checking the 30 day forecast everyday and hoping it’s wrong because it doesn’t present a cool down until November. I can’t wait that long. I have Summertime Sadness. I want it to go away.

So I wait, impatiently if you will, for Florida to decide to cool down. I feel I am waiting in vain. I think when my lease is up I am going to find myself somewhere with actual seasons. Somewhere that has an Autumn season. Somewhere with snow. Somewhere very far away from this God awful heat.

Help? Suggestions?