a slightly incoherent note on writing and what it's meant to me and such

trying to get the puzzle pieces to match up how they used to

i don’t think my writing has ever come about in a linear sort of way. what usually happens is that i get a string of words stuck in my head and i’m scrambling for the missing puzzle pieces to complete the picture. it’s been a long time since i found the right words to use, to capture, to describe, to materialize the loose concept gnawing at my brain.

i used to write short novels with dozens and dozens of chapters in a college spiral bound notebook for my friends in elementary and middle school to pass around. we created secret worlds, and everyone always wanted more, more, more. and they waited faithfully in anticipation for the newest plot twist, the newest romance. they waited weeks, and delighted in my words.

during my teens, i’d hash out little blurbs, paragraphs of love dedicated to crushes and romances, and when those fell through- they became angst-filled rants in the notes app.

i’ve kept a journl/diary/finsta,tumblr (whatever you want to call it) since i was like 12 or whatever, i know i’ve always loved to document write and share and collage and web weave, and i know there’s somebody out there who must feel the same ways i do, but maybe they can’t pinpoint those feelings exactly with words. that’s what i want to do.

i know i lost the ability to for a while, but here i am, at 21 and a half years old, crawling under the couch for the missing puzzle pieces to my sentences, hoping maybe it helps you find yours too.