I almost feel an impostor, a stranger. Maybe a family member, down the line, but with access. Here to pick up where it all left off.
But it's me. I'm the same person.
All those words were me.
I don't even know where that was.
Life stretches on and on.
I am not driven to return here by a cataclysm. It's a pale blue morning. The first in some time where I can sit for an hour or so. Recently I purchased some plants. They keep me company as I write. Another life with the same desires. Place me somewhere warm, kiss my skin with sunlight and hand me a drink. Separate from these things, I am content to be left where you find me.
I have not written for a very long time.