I haven’t touched my acoustic in a while. I haven’t been able to finish a song in even longer.

delicious inspiration. is it okay that it lives in my mind?
I don’t mean imagination; I have no shortage of that. or writing a story for the sake of creating a story. and I don’t mean embellishing truth. I’m positive it’s literally all in my mind. but we can trick ourselves into buying our own homespun stories, right? that’s why placebos work. like the button for a crosswalk. I once knew someone who was convinced that it doesn’t actually send a signal to the crosswalk; it just makes you feel controlled and communicative. couldn’t argue.

we can trick our bodies into believing what we tell our mind.
the problem is, it works with hearts too.
that’s all actors do. we take emotional sugar pills. feels like we’re feeling.
and we get a story out of it.
at what point, though, does the line between mind and heart blur?

oooooooooh, I don’t know. I don’t know; maybe I’m feeling with my mind. but it feels like I’m feeling, and it reads like a story, and it sounds like a melody, and it feels like jumping in a midnight fountain.

brb, writing.