In Medias Res

"Two years of lacklustre and static progress and it’s like I don’t really know you and I don’t recognise your handwriting where the pages of your letters have gathered dust. I don’t recognise the way the words form on the pages and they don’t make sense to me, I have to read them about three times just for them to make sense but no amount of hyperbolic metaphors and syllables and over embellished pretentious bullshit can express that gut wrenching feeling till your insides are like wool tangled round knitting needle ribs. It can’t be explained at all because there is nothing to explain. Nothing exists. you can’t pick up where you left off if there’s nothing to pick up. A year’s a long to be doing nothing with your life, two years is a long time to have wasted on something that leads to nothing. The irony is in the end at the beginning. For all the distance we travelled and all the miles we covered, we got nowhere really."