Heaven.

Ah!

FRIG!

I GOTTA WRITE!!!


And I'm saying this... in the midst of writing an essay.

But it doesn't feel like an essay. It just feels like... I don't even know what. Like I'm up to my knees in mud, which would actually be quite a fun activity, if it was on a warm day. But this time, it feels like a cold day, and I'm pushing rocks, and getting nowhere, and I'm trying to keep a prom dress clean, but I can't, because I'm in mud, of course. AGH.

Far too often in my life, I feel this sort of deep, dissatisfaction in my soul. Like a hunger, that I'm constantly striving for. I always feel it, when I listen to music, and run really fast when I'm outside, or when I open up the curtains and let the sunshine flood in to a dank musty room. Whenever I play piano, or have a really good dream, or get a good hug, or of course, whenever I write.

It feels like each of these times, or all of my life, this stuff is GOOD, but I'm constantly wondering about the better. In simplicity, I suppose... I want heaven.