The backlog is weighing down on me.

The writing isn't tough, it just takes more to say things because you fear they'll come out sounding flimsy and fake. A lot of the things that swirl around in my head have started to remain there. The talking has become lesser and quieter. The thinking has becoming more complicated. In the addled state of affairs whilst sitting with friends so close that they are an extension of your being the thoughts come out in slow, calculated steps. I won't say if it's pleasant or not; mainly because I don't know.

The words feel more raw and inhibited when the spout out now. The longer you protect them, the happier you'll be.