“My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.” -Augustus Waters

Let me begin with this, you are the best writing material. All of my over-charged, emotion-driven, teenage verve was centered around you (and you and you and you), and you were the most brilliant, all encompassing, couldn’t-have-created-a-better-if–I-was-God-Himself muse. Every mistake you made, and every flaw you ever revealed was chronicled in crass poetry, and for that I apologize (and thank you). I feel so homesick for the honesty running uncontrolled with pen and ink and type, yet completely lacking in my speech. I want to train myself to be capable of speaking the way I write. I want my thoughts to make sense outside of my body. I feel nostalgia for a portion of my very own self. Why can we not communicate honestly with each other in society? We shuffle around restraining our own truths. We hide from ourselves, we hide ourselves from others. I want to learn to be open again. I want to learn to speak the things I write down or think or feel, especially the ones that contain too much emotion. I want to learn to describe experiences and ideas without using the words “like and very and umm.” I want to learn to look people in their eyes and say sentences thick with content. There aren’t many people who live like this, but when I meet them, I love them and feel instantly addicted to them.

I want to be one of the honest ones.

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