So I was searching for myself on the internet as I do from time to time and I stumbled across an old story of mine, a prose poem of sorts entitled “The Mime.” This was something I wrote when I was 16 or 17 I think.
I like it for its ambition, but at the same time it makes me miss the older me, the more poetic version of me, striving to be read. Back then I wrote a lot of prose poems and vignettes. I tried to do Lovecraft and Ligotti justice.
Nowadays, I’m not sure where my love for words have gone, but I’m going back to my roots to dig it back up.