I write, a lot actually. More so than I blog and now more so than I journal. For the most part, my scribblings suck. It's not written well and it's always half finished. It's hard for me to keep a coherent story line in my head when I'm always bombarded by different thoughts. Part of the reason why I'm typing everything up is because I hope it'll help me keep better track of things, plus it's easier to move text on a computer than it is to move it on paper.
If you could only, if you could only slow down for a couple of minutes, for a few seconds. Just so that I had time to catch what you were saying. I've known you or so long and yet I still haven't gotten caught up to your speed of things. I still aren't fast enough.
Speak up one at a time. It's hard to listen to who is most important. One voice panicking, another stupidly singing along, and you—you with all the answers, although none of them most likely right, muffled, muted and just a second or two too fast for me to catch up. And what I am, what I am used to is left in the dust, having caught only a few fragmentary sentences that make no sense. Left in a confused state, where I'll try to piece together all I was able to catch into something not coherent and something which I'll ultimately abhor—and you'll be gone.
Just stop running. Just give me a second to mesh with you. To see who I should be instead of always leaving me behind. Just, just wait.
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