Sometimes I Write Some Stuff

When I'm supposed to be doing other things.
Says who, anyway?
I dunno...life.
That's irrelevant.
I know.

Sometimes I write some stuff to figure things out or to avoid figuring things out. Sometimes I write some stuff to understand or to escape. Sometimes I write some stuff to fumble at making things clear to others or to struggle through making things clear to myself.

Words on a page, words on a page. Turning shades of gray to black and white. Stark contrast to see, as I often say, some kind of serenity. Catharsis. A glimpse of clarity, perhaps? Fleeting though it is.

Why is it fleeting?
Because I've already decided it's so.
But that makes no sense.
I know.

Sometimes I write some stuff to flesh out the perception of internal conflict, to return to the centre, to ground myself in my own mind, to clarify my intentions.

Let go at the risk of holding on, I suppose.

Does that make any sense?