left untouched on my desktop. I’ve opened it impatient to finish it at least a dozen times since then. Something urged me to leave it be each time I read it through, assured me that I would know the proper moment to defile it. Quotes from it have buzzed in my head in various instances, words choppy and misused.
That moment came (at nearly 5am on little sleep), and I am ill-equipped to explain the catharsis it brought (even fraught with worry about finances), but it being finished brought me closure I’ve not had in a long time. It may not be perfect, but it is perfectly me.
(Source: poetic-euphemisms)
