I was accused of not writing anymore.
Of not writing about anything but love.
But, all i feel today is love.
A bit of anger, perhaps. But primarily love.

My need to proclaim arrives.
To proclaim so as to enlarge.
Is hyperbole the word, well-read people would use?
Or am I wrong again?

I have an old air about myself.
Or merely old hair.

Spaces are closing in on me.
People know people. The world is small.
It allows for gossip, but forces with it claustrophobia.
I hate worlds clashing. But, they do.
Just when one believes they've been forced apart, they hit each other again.
Bang. Ouch. Bang. Ouch.

I suppose one could say I'm back. With my bad grammer, wrong word usage and complaints.