spring buds

ah, it feels good to write. even when i'm not writing i'm thinking about writing, it's kind of how i process the world. i think in snippets, in quotes, in lyrical beginnings, middles, ends. writing allows me to put a frame on something, the world, which is at its very essence an un-frameable thing. does that make the things i say untruthful? as they are only one small part of the whole? collect these part truths together and even then, with an armload of my thoughts and opinions, there will always be something missing. what is that missing thing that can only be hinted at, circumvented, seen briefly from our peripheral vision? is that, then, the soul?

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