here. again.

I always do this. I always keep coming back to this place, flip flopping back and forth like a fish on a deck, desperately struggling to find their place. 

The problem is I've never felt like I belonged anywhere, or at least anywhere where there were other people around to share space with. 

I'm fine with being alone. I prefer it, in fact. 

I would choose an empty room to a room with a single other person in it pretty much every time, and I loathe being in crowded places, especially crowded places where people can touch me. 

I don't feel like I belong in this world anymore, and that is part of what keeps me on the run.

I'd like to disappear, sometimes.

I'd like to run away, be on the lam, get off the grid and just... poof. 

Instead I will spill ink where no one can find it, I will keep coming here and collecting everything, a word hoarder, and no one has to know I did it because I was so desperate for something new and beautiful to build from the ground up.

Tabula rasa.

Here, again.