I just spent about an hour writing something.
Then I deleted it.
I just never feel like my writing is good enough
to match what is unravelling itself in my mind.
I have a vision somewhere in me,
but it rarely rests on my tongue.
Even if it rested there,
it would be very difficult for me bring it to paper.
I started out writing about snow.
I love writing about snow and how melancholy it makes me feel.
Then I pictured myself on Garrett Bourdon's porch.
Then I pictured myself doing something that makes me feel really cozy:
smoking a cigarette, drinking a glass of scotch.
Then I pictured myself staring at a girls' neckline.
Then I find myself wanting to tell a story.
Why am I always wanting to tell a story?
Who really cares if there is no link between all of the images?
I wish I could just write something beautiful and be okay with that.