No, I know that I think far too much. Because it’s almost 4am and my heart is pounding and I’m twirling my hair around my finger to ward off the eager nerves and my eyes are swollen and alert and my fingers are flying across brightly lit keys in a rather dark room.
My laptop is propped up on a hardcover Audrey Hepburn coffee-table book to prevent it from overheating, like my mind, like my body when I toss and turn for hours on a humid Southern night all swaddled in sheets and a light airy duvet.
I think that I think too much.
Because my mind is ablaze—the disjointed thoughts, unrealized ideas, fragmented sentences seamlessly disturb the quiet, the peace, and the calm.
It’s the angst of having the beginnings of everything, but no endings in sight; the pathways are obscured and you can barely see more than two…
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