Everything lies in piles.

Drafts and revisions and notes and corrections clutter the floor and scream for me to tidy the past, but I’m looking towards the future. I gather my words, devour dictionaries, but there’s still too much to say.

A day off in winter. It’s 50 degrees and it’s shining, but God’s threatening - it won’t last - and I don’t know if I believe in Him, but I believe in the weather and I believe in the time and I believe in the changes which won’t come to pass.

I’m feeling the breeze through the window and its cold reminds me of things I want to miss and holes I cannot fill and a hunger food cannot diminish.

I am starving.