The only real requirement of writing is to pay attention. The words you are trying to write are already there—you just have to know how to pluck them from the ether. Consider the robin. Before she begins, the nest she seeks to build lies in pieces around her. She knows how to be diligent in her search for the perfect malleable twig, knows precisely how to weave leaves into the gaps to keep the wind out. So too am I a scavenger in this existence, deconstructing and scrutinizing and rebuilding until there is some semblance of order in my life. I don’t know how to be good, I only know how to be true—that is to say, maybe there is some hope for me after all. 

(Nov. 2)