Scrambled thoughts.

I miss writing.
I wish I were lost in that season again
where words came easily from pen to paper.

I hate the sewing machine.
I just want it to work so I can create with it.
My curtains seem a dream...

I am a mess - I wish I could call it beautiful.
My heart feels like a bobblehead - head.
So does my head.

Whatever season this is:
I am thirsty. Desperate.
Unsatisfied and in deep longing.
Speak, Defendor.
Teach me You in the matter.
How I long to remember.

Oh...how I long to remember...