life doesn't start in july.
life doesn't start when you were born, or when you realize you're to die.
i'm not really sure life begins, or ends, at all.
but i am sure that it moves.
the people and places in it move,
or maybe you move from them.
but yet, the present never really seems to take pity on the past.
or maybe it does. i don't know.
i am not really sure what i'm planning on doing. i have no resonation of the things, and people i am sure to miss....or any want of the future that is bound to make it better...and be however "bright."
all i really know, is that i am leaving.
for a place far from here.
for a place far enough for you not to see my shadow on your doorstep.
for a place that may, or may not be "home."
but i am taking notes.
maybe to bring about some sort of closeness....maybe for you..
or maybe more
Recently i realized just how many stories i have, and how many i will have.
so, here is where i will tell them.
to everyone who cares to read. to listen with their eyes, to laugh.
to everyone who cares, in general.
and for everyone who doesn't.
here is where i will track my weekly existence in words, pictures, in notes of my "present."
but, also...most likely, the "past..."
because my life didn't start in july.