“And every word you burn to write, is a mark that you must own” 

That’s the thing with words you’ve written, they will always belong to you. I think that’s why I love to write. Like a map of emotions, mine always lead to the same place. Sometimes days pass and I don’t have much to say, but I could write constantly. Life gets in the way and I forget the poetry that comes to mind. It always comes back though. Quiet times are full of verses. Hearing the ebb of the tide on the pebbles or the gulls overhead. It’s not always about what I’m hearing or seeng, but about the thoughts they evoke. Like fabrics and perfume, beautiful splinters in the soul.

I do burn to write. To set aside time doesn’t work, because you cannot plan those sparks.