So maturity doesn’t come with age but with experience. This explains why I feel like an 80 year old man trapped in a 22-year-olds body.

Of late, I don’t feel inspired anymore. Anything I write comes out as coerced hence explaining my long silence on the blog. My creative juices seem to have been diluted. However, writing is a part of me and will always be a part of me. How then can I take this sitting down? Let my own creativity go to waste. The only thing I’ve come to love as much as I love myself. The glow of the screen hypnotizes my mind and my fingers work their magic. The distinct tapping of the keyboard my own abracadabra.  I have a voice but my writing is the only way the world will listen.

So well I am back. Not with a bang but hey who’s taking notes. It might not be as inspired as earlier pieces but I’m working with the dying embers of a fire. Every stroke of the keyboard a fan to the flame. With time, it will grow and the glow will be no more. In its place will be a fiery furnace. The passion, the wrath, the pain, the love all my emotions onto one page. For the world to see, for the world to read.

I’m already feeling the warmth; it feels like I never left. Although for a moment it was scary, I did not know where to start. It felt like I was in a dark room and the walls were closing in, my breathing heavy and the air around me thinning. Suffocation, that’s what it felt like. I guess that’s what love should feel like. Any minute that you’re away should seem unbearable.

Well the fact of the matter is I came back. I found my way. I am here to stay, penning my thoughts and letting the internet that doesn’t really care how I feel. It’s therapeutic in some way or maybe that’s just the consolation I give myself.


Well it aint a thing.


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