just another thought suddenly turned to gold

I feel the need to write. To let my precarious thoughts tumble out into something perfectly worded and thought out to a t. But I realized this just the other day:
writing is imperfection. Writers tend to be hard on themselves. Seeing only the bad in a piece. It's like survival. Even though you have food, you obsess over the fact that theres no fire. So today I made a promise to myself. I would let myself write freely and obsessively until my fingers are raw and my thoughts are shaded. I would enjoy writing and think of it not as a chore, but as a simple tool to completely let myself go. Imperfection is perfection, because the best piece of writing is one that is raw. So from now on, even my most simplest and non-deep ponders will be a piece of gold on this silly little webpage.
until once again
flywriter