I have ran into a writer’s drought the vastness of the Gobi Desert.
I grew into the shoes of an adult and threw them out because, hey, She’s back.
I stumbled and fell on stones in my flee from my Dark Comfort.
I watched someone walk out of my life, and I still want to know the essential question:
“Do you ever think of me anymore?”
I gained a close comrade or two and learned how the world AK-47ed their hearts.
I celebrated as higher learning opened its expensive arms and accepted me into its machine.
I found a potential, but I’m not sure how long she’ll stand me.
Where has the time gone?