When your days come and go, void of any passionate exchange between you and those you admire, those you love, your reference of who you are begins to unravel, -it comes apart thread by thread. Physically and mentally, I'm more active than I've ever been. My days are filled to the brim. A single bee buzzing around in a hive. I'm proud of what I'm achieving, but I feel so two-dimensional. The honeycomb resonates and it's a distracting reminder. It's my choice, right.

This is no 'rant' -things are well- I tend to jot down what I'm thinking in the moment, and I should probably just get laid soon too.. before I forget how to..

Sick, it's March. My favourite month. I can't remember exactly why, but I had a few fortunate March's when I was young. It's also the month that brings me Womad, my favourite music festival.