I'm not a jedi. Not in any way. Not even in writing. In fact, so far in life, I'd say that I've drifted very close to the dark side of the force. I've been off of here for a very long time, but the recent death of a fellow write has sent me spiraling down a rabbit hole of the past, and I have reconnected with the poet I used to be.
I won't make any promises. In this chaotic existence called life, I might give more attention to the Netflix horror show Sweet Home than I ever do to my writing again, but I will definitely be back.
Writing is like a drug. You take it and you feel. I write and I feel. And I remember. And I hope. And that hope is addictive. Knowing that my love is dying, that my life became the monotonous let down that I always feared it would be, knowing that the new year is only bringing more questions and so far, less answers.
I'm back because my cravings were buried under years of grief and disillusionment. Are you here? Like really here? Or have you gone off to find yourself in the cosmos? Leaving the young jedi of today to fend for themselves? I am not a role model, but I am here. And I will write...