It’s been quite a while since I have poured something out, so pardon me if I’m more ‘ rusty’ than usual.
I have always said that I have missed writing. Now more than ever, I have realized that this statement is true. True enough that it keeps me from always coming back to it whenever I have too much of what everything else has to offer.
But I’ll admit, I will never be the great writer I thought I can be EVENTUALLY.
I have lost the passion (?) and the aspiration to become one.
However, writing will always be my lover and my best kept secret. It will always be my medication (though not addiction) for it will always help me soothe my mind from every assault it had encountered over the course of being away from letting out random spurts of ideas, thoughts, even rants.
It never fails to comfort me as I watch the stream of words come out, however crooked, unorganized, biased, crazy and farfetched it may be.
Writing is a therapy. Writing is what helps me decide, I suppose, the one I can organize; like picking up one random realization I just made and connect it to a dream I had way back, lying hidden and forgotten in some unused corner of the mind.
So now where I have been? I imagine if she were my mother or a guardian that she would ask me it as if I were some teenager who just arrived shortly after midnight, and got caught sneaking in.
She could also ask me as if I were her lover, in a sultry voice, keeping me ensnared with her seductive voice and luring me back again to her arms. (This one’s giving me the shivers).
I need to answer the question in different scenarios, I guess.
For Mother Writing, I would say:
“Out discovering the world, opening the eye to what I have been not in the capacity to see in my limited view. Finding out what is there more to other than just what you usually tell. ” Doing this with a pout and a sulk and storming out of the room.
However if Lover Writing would ask me; I’ll reply:
“I only needed to see what more is there to see. To experience others than what you just make me feel, and then when I think I have enough, will come back right back to you and let you see it in my eyes.”
Where have I been, really?
I’ve been out in the world, (in the real world, so they say) and I have forgotten how it feels to just be able to be the emotional, artistic, free self I think I am whenever I am writing. I let the practical realist and ‘mature’ side of me took over, so now I come running back to where I lick my wounds and settle for peace…writing.
Need some space to decompress and relieve myself of all the worries I guess. Be Back for more, this is a promise.