And, I just want to write words again. Describe the world around me. Like the faded surf brand sticker that is almost translucent and sits in the corner of the window I look out from in my home office, with carpet disintegrating underfoot. It only slightly obscures the gums that reach up from across the road where an easement allowing water to flow down into what remains of suburban water ways (it has to go somewhere) means that no one will build a monstrosity there and cut them down. If I clean my glasses and squint I can make out the words above the faded logo that looks something like a wave.
“The Search,” it reads. And, that is what I’m still doing.