Fire In My Belly
Reflective thought is utterly addictive. The mismatched colorations of my most vivid realizations and the caviler notions of my shipwrecked self are often enough to leave me consumed. As of late, I’ve been ruminating over a particular conversation. Dialogue highlighted by misplaced anxieties, a dream’s fragility and advice drenched in gold. My friend and I sat in a small coffee shop while the melodious hissing of espresso machines and overcast chattering of other customers filled the vaulted room. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too!”, she solemnly...
