Made another thing... It's been a week over my last post, maybe it's the rainy, cold weather my midwestern state's devolved into. My fear is the fall and winter will throw me into a depression, and I'll stop writing for 6 months. (Anyone else get the feeling they've used a line in Commaful before, and have to check through their stories. It's frustrating and makes you like your writing is bland, not going anywhere new.) So here's my obsession with flowers, tied with a twist of another mediocre love poem, with a side of the same similes. :P I'm not forcing myself to write, but trying to finish those thoughts that I get and make them poems, and not just have lines that I don't do anything with. So my plan is hitchhike to some Montana cabin that's been abadoned. Stay there until pretty things come through the ground again. The Writer's hiatus, the one you hear in books, and see on movies. Only maybe without getting kidnapped. I could grow a beard, wear flannel.