All the things that I would say used to spill freely on these pages.
Now I pause and consider certain readers. Then I spend time arguing with myself over it.
Even my muse is tired of it.
I have spent my life waiting on others to grant me a place at their table.
It’s high time I make my own.
It’s probably going to be a table for one.
I am increasingly okay with the notion… tired of waiting for what never arrives.
The bubbles of La Brea break slowly, but always with finality.
“Anything but that tar pit!” – Brier Rabbit