I'm in a new place with fresh herbs, bygone regrets, and bit of table salt. I'm in a new place and it feels slightly odd to be here. What is it that drives me to write again, I don't know that. I do think it's time that I do things again, put myself in a situation, place myself at ease somehow.
I am reading excellent Argentine literature, and I've got half a mind to obtain an air-fryer soon.
The natural progression of things has brought me here, and the natural progression of things will take me away from here. But then again, **** **** ******** ****?
I drown in visions of the past and I flail among pathways to the future. There is the underlying presence of the stoic nature that Seneca talked about, overpowered by a disposition to think over and over again. I stay hydrated, though.