Journal: Quicksand

So I'm taking a poetry class this semester and my teacher suggested getting a small notebook to carry around. I recently got one for ideas, observations, pieces of writing that may be thought of during the day or whenever.

Here's a random thought and unedited writing from that little journal I now carry around:

Love is Quicksand

it happens all so fast and once it does, you're stuck and you keep sinking deeper and deeper. you get pulled out a little here and there only to sink faster than before. you keep sinking 'til you can't breathe anymore and become asphyxiated and at that point, no one can save you.

I'm almost to that point.