I want to write, I love writing. It's not like I'm trying to satisfy myself by writing this but really. I am writing regardless haha. It's just that I feel like something has died inside of me, like it has faded away and blown out of my reach like the dandelions that swiftly drift out of your reach with a sudden gust. I know it's inside of me waiting to be unleashed, the old love, the old flow. I'm missing it ever relentlessly and it's really hard, it is. And it's true, hardest walks of life are walked by yourself. It feels like there's still a speck of that feeling left. It's still wilting but there, waiting for me to rescue it as moments run by. I'm chasing it, struggling to grasp it. Waiting foe it to immerse in my veins and get dissolved like oxygen in blood. There's always still hope. Headaches are just temporary. It's how you fix them. Holding on matters, of course. Glorifying the calm moments as they are spent. Albeit, my head does get fried, not in the frying pan but in the air.
PS. In the end, I don't know, when or how it shall happen but happen it will. I don't know how to give birth to that gift I have. That cosmos entrusted me with. That has died. I do know, I will not fail or give up. I'll be there for myself. Always.
#notanarcissistictalelol
