i've been working on this thing, and it isn't nearly complete, though perhaps it never could be
that's the trouble with writing i can not ever fully divulge exactly what i mean into just words
though i suppose that's because i'm not a very good writer, because that's not how everyone feels
it's how if felt upon returning home from europe. family asking how london and paris were and i get almost rather bitter about it. there is no way to express things sometimes unless you live it and it frustrates the hell out of me because not everything i experience is tangible. the stories that i tell could never express the experience i had. i hate to cheapen it by sounding unimpressive in words. it wasn't about everything i saw or did, it was about how it made me feel to walk around the city of london at night alone. to hear a different language around every corner. the beauty of diversity.
so i say that it was an amazing experience and leave it at that.
so i've been working on this thing, but it may never be complete. it's about existence, trial and error/mutations, the anatomy of humans. things i am absolutely fascinated by. that's why i hate to share it. i could never write something to relay how truly magnificent human life is. i began to write at work and now have a whole document saved and so much research open about the subject. humans, man, and no one appreciates it