the dance of the ink riddled fingers

A year ago, I dreamed small dreams

A year ago I started writing different pages.  Pages I had only let one or two other people read, and pages I’d hoped to be published.  A year ago, it was my best work, I could not fault it and it seemed to flow well.  A year later,I reread it and it seemed to need a bit of reworking.  So I suppose that if I can look back a year ago and read what I thought was my most inspired work and feel it wasn’t as fetching as I remembered, then I suppose it means that a year later, I’ve made progress!

I want to be a better writer.  I want to be better at everything.

I suppose my striving-towards-always-improving-because-I-always-thought-I-needed-improving “ness” (because I do!), has made me completely unaccustomed to the lovely manner in which D speaks to me.  It’s almost unnerving how highly he regards me, and how patient he is with the fact that in our first week of “us”, I couldn’t make time to see him from Tuesday to Saturday.  He has visions, he dreams dreams, and he sees me in his ambitions.  I always thought myself a dreamer, but this man is putting my year ago dreams to shame!  Haha, we decided to refuse to become a “comfortable” couple after day 4 of being too comfortable.

To project myself forward a little, I declare that a year from now, my current dreams will either have been completed or in be the process completion, and would’ve become “realities” which would then be challenged by a new batch of “impossibilities”, and so on and so forth.

Dear God, I’m addicted to dreams… this was your doing!


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