lucybychoice

02-05-2025

I should start by providing a warning: I have nothing to say.

I’m not sure what a blog entails in terms of writing or in terms of expectations. My twitter bio reads, “storyteller. collection of clouds.” So I suggest the following: I tell stories. We cloudgaze. Tell me what shapes you see.

Currently I am going through pictures of spring and summer because my apartment is freezing. I can’t wait to ride my bike again, I can’t wait to run on the F1 track, I am impatient.

Aside from that, I am learning about myself in class, and I am learning that I am self-centered through writing this because I have said I many times. And this is not the first time this has happened. Instead of being self centered maybe I should be self conscious, but in a literal sense, not in the anxiety sense, I mean self conscious as in conscious of the self (which, coincidentally, I am also learning about in class, if you’ll believe that). I forgot to specify that my classes are all in psychology. If you couldn’t tell. Anyway.

My favorite book ever is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, which I actually read in French, and I’m not sure if the peculiar prose that I find oh so endearing stems from the actual writing or simply from the translation from Portuguese. Either way it is a short read and I strongly recommend it. Earlier I was listening to Grand Corps Malade which is slam poetry I’ve been listening to for so so long and also the person who inspired me to start writing so if you’re not enjoying this entry blame him.

Today’s word is recurrence. I’m not sure why but I think things repeat. I can see the same bird two days in a row, my footsteps from yesterday are frozen in the snow and match my stride today perfectly. I commented on a friend’s Instagram post that January lasted 47 days and now it is midnight thirty two on February 5 and I’m not sure where the first four days went, but March will return to lasting an eternity because such is time and it is relative, which is part of physics I would assume. Physics is not my strong suit, I apologize.

How are the clouds doing? I have not looked up at the sky in a hot minute. The snow melts only for it to snow again, and there’s a girl catching snowflakes on her tongue in the middle of the parking lot, and I wish that was me. I stand under the light of a singular lamppost and say Grace for no reason at all.

Such are my stories. I am listening to “Só” by Hareton Salvanini because I couldn’t listen to poetry and write at the same time, and I’m sure it’s contributing to the solemn mood I am writing the end of this in. But I told you I had nothing to say, and I have still said nothing, and it shall remain that way. Once more I apologize, but for once I am sorry.


lucybychoice