Write

When I don't write. It isn't because there's nothing to say, or in my opinion, it isn't because I don't have the words to caption it all. It's mostly because there's simply too much. Life is overwhelmingly too much. But not overwhelming like a wall of water, not some crushing thing. Life hasn't been that for me yet. I'm not depressed by the massive amount of "stuff". Rather, It is overwhelming like a heavy fog of perfume. It's difficult to see through it all, but more that it overwhelms all of the senses. And like too much perfume, I have a hard time knowing whether I like it. I don't always know where it comes from. Pain or happiness. And much of this could be chalked up to coincidence and being either where I ought to be, or not where I ought to be. But I'd rather chalk it up to more than that.

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