Thursday.

It's Thursday. This week has taken a toll on me. Money, relationships, and classes all combine into a tsunami-like wave. I find a refuge in writing though. It doesn't have to be something well thought out, just something real. I find comfort in the way my pen feels scraping across the page, leaving its black inky trail as proof of its papery journeys. I think when I write, my soul sits on the point of my pen, scraping itself across the page, leaving behind a black trail of hurts and cares. Friends come and go, but these blue lines are always here to bear my burdens.