I feel anxious to use words. To capture thoughts in sentences. Because they seem inaccurate.

But these words I do not have to believe. Or consider truth. Because these are expression

These are fleshed-out ideas, and ideas need not be true. Ideas are for intellectual training. For cultivation of more, until a new one is birthed into existence.

And my personal truth. My sincere, immediate thoughts. They matter, and no one is a waste. Individually, flaws can be unappealing. But in a holistic sense, they have functions.

Am I sure of my claims? No. Am I confident? I’m starting to be.

I want to be honest, a lot more. To be raw. To be real. For its own sake.

Because then I see my actual self more. And I can only understand what I experience.

I long something, I do not know it. But I also think I do.

These thoughts, despite how incoherent or unclear or nonsensical, are of importance.

These thoughts are a part of me. And when I lay them out in sight, I get a better glimpse of who I am.