I sit in the dark and I overlook chrome.

Cold hard shells holding thousands hoping that being here will inject them with life.

I sit in front of a dated screen, blue light coming off of it, dinging me with responsibilities on the minute.

I quit.

I sit in front of the blank screen and try to come up with something beautiful.

I quit.

Whoever said writing was dignified was an asshole.

I want to do something important

Don’t we all?

I haven’t seen the ocean in years. I promised myself I would go but instead I bought things to make my face or my hair look better, and those things ate up at the beach and the sun and the waves.

And I gave most of it away, because it only felt good to get it, not to have it.

I quit.

Even now in the dark while I am still doing it I quit.

We say it all the time.

So why not?

I am hoping that one day I discover something so beautiful and so true that it makes the sitting and the waiting and the wanting and the hoping all worthwhile.

I am hoping.

I quit.

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<a Resist

A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

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