Before, I really make time for this. No excuses. I will write anything, but maybe that’s when I lost it. I just write, without a purpose. I just write to release. While that is a purpose in itself, it only benefits me. It is different reaching out to people and have your words make its impact, touching other’s heartstrings. I lost that magic, I believe. So maybe—just maybe—I am discouraged? I want my writings to be useful if you know what I mean.
Stories are never my forte. I still believe poetry and blogging are what I’m best at. In poems, I don’t have to build characters and plot—I just follow my heart. In blogging, I just casually talk to you—like writing in a diary. Creating an entire world of your own, characters, settings, main and side stories, well, it’s SO hard.
This time last year, it was raining while the dancing lights kept ablaze. And with cold fingers, I let the breeze seeped in. Since then, winter lives on in me. The snow burns, but it keeps me going; The heart bleeds, but it keeps on beating. The emerald against the blue tapestry. I will remember.… Continue reading A Year After