Language Festival 2018
I haven't written in a long time. I've come to realize that even sadness is a healthy sign sometimes. That's not that this is about. Or so I'm hoping. There is going to be a time when all the beautiful things and people in your life will run out. One day, you'll not get up to mow the lawn or you won't get out of bed to make your husband some tea. The grass will grow to wild lengths. Your man will learn to make tea again. Youth is fleeting. You already know that. Our most favorite people are transient. You know that as well. Just that, in this moment, you're alive in a time with the people you love. You've already lost a few. But if you're 24, you've probably met 5-6 people you want to call before you go. Maybe less. But that's not important. This entire thing is pointless. Maybe it's a fucked up way to tell somebody you love them. By telling them you'd like to call them before you go away for good. But isn't the worst kind of sadness unlanguageable? Maybe that's why I've lost my touch with words. It's crap anyway. But at least I can sing you a song. 

"Your lips, my lips. Apocalypse."