3 years ago

My writing is not as good as it was three years ago. Maybe I was happier then. Maybe I was closer to God then. Maybe my mom didn’t have cancer then. Maybe I wasn’t all crazy and mental hospital-y then.

My writing is not as graceful as it was three years ago. It’s ugly. And fragmented. It stops and starts and ideas never really resolve.

My writing is not as moving as it was three years ago. I think I’m regressing or something. Plateauing sounds kinda nice compared to what I’m doing – slowly dying.

My writing is not nearly as good as it was three years ago. But I keep writing anyway.

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