Keep writing, they say.

Keep writing.

God.

I’m so empty, so tired, so frustrated, scared, angry…So I’m pulling words to the surface like each letter is encased in ancient marble, wrapped in seaweed and rotting ropes, disturbing the homes of countless sea creatures and adding to the weight of guilt/sorrow that comes with motion or stagnation — because it really doesn’t matter which: both hurt and steal my breath and my thoughts and my words and my heart

but.

Keep writing.