The Refuge

I Cut My Tongue

I cut my tongue. The edge of the knife was serrated. It’s not a big cut, and it doesn’t hurt. The cut stings just enough that I notice it’s there. I’ve never cut my tongue before, but I have licked knives. I’m usually licking the flat side of the knife. There might be something delicious on the knife at the time, so I lick it. Of course, I wipe the knife off afterwards. I cut my tongue this…

I sit here inside of my cozy little nook with a cup of coffee listening to the wind in the breeze outside. The ring of windchimes in the distance. Everyday that passes is a day the opportunity to change my trajectory can be achieved. I don’t know where writing will take me, but I know that’s it’s been an escape from the doldrums of daily existence for eons now, not just for myself but for many.…

at thirty one years of age, after thirty one revolutions around the sun, I’m STILL trying to figure myself out. I think it’s less a question of who I am and more a question of how I operate most efficiently. I’m starting to realize that I like to do whatever I want whenever I want regardless of consequence; this directly contradicts with notions of discipline and routine, however. Freedom is…