You know how sometimes, the first several minutes of a movie are dull and you give up on the whole movie? As an adult, I have revisited some of those movies and regretted giving up on them. At 70 out of 123 minutes, I still do not regret having given up on the Notebook.
I am a scatterbrain. Full of fleeting fragments of beautiful thoughts; flawed by their complexity, made fascinating by the intricate manner in which they all seem to touch on everything yet nothing all at once. Gossamer-thin webbing connects them to one another in such a way that it is impossible to retrace my steps between the aforementioned fragments of thoughts. My poetic ramblings simply further this conundrum as we speak. It’s always like this inside my head. And that’s not a bad thing.