sometimes it looks like being led when you take my hand, sometimes it looks like observing your gaze and wandering alone in that direction until the path peters out
there was some william james on the living room bookshelf which i obviously picked up and i liked his emphasis on dewey’s usage of the term, i think i might think in those terms more
not sure what to make of this me, the one who creates distance when prompted, but not when approached. the one who lacks a shell or quills, but proudly displays a spine
as much as one can complain about indeterminately perpetual monotony, there’s something a lot more nauseating about the repetitive cadence of a semester or school year