#*inspire

this is the point: to say, i bled for you -- i was awake all night, i wrote this for you, don’t you see? i love you so much that it hurts; i love you so much that i’d rather remember that i fought for this: every word, every comma was a struggle. hemingway was wrong. there is everything to writing, or maybe i just don’t bleed as easily. the words get tangled in my veins; they get lost on the journey from heart to fingertips. my body is a dictionary, but catching language is like trying to pin down water.