a many thousand things have happened since i last wrote and for the past twenty minutes or so, i've been staring at this big block of white with the thin line appearing and disappearing incessantly. there are so many things i'd like to say at so many moments for the past year but i never had an idea of how to rather than where to begin with and this procrastination has taken its toll on me, with all these incidents now building up into this big ball of stories and emotions jumbled up inside my head. writing and keeping a record of this now feels strange to me, printing out images from my head into these characters, these words and occasionally looking up for a flamboyant word or phrase to show that i've not lose the touch to write. or maybe i already have. but for the past year or so i've been continuously asking myself through and through why do i write and what do i write about? i do not find it necessary to express my feelings in words anymore, not when now i have someone to share with; neither do i find an urge to translate images or that precise moment of life into words, not when now i do have a camera that will do the job for me; neither do i require to channel my wild imaginations of sorts on to this online platform, not when i am able to do it through producing videos. so, what really do i write about?
i miss writing, this whole package of creativity bundled in words sleepless nights soft music in the earphones as well as that occasional cup of coffee and ten exact pieces of crackers - no more no less - and the silence of the streets that hums through the window in my room. i miss this tranquility when i write when i think of the next appropriate word to match the former when i pour out everything inside me and rearrange them into words and it feels like being immersed in deep waters and the moon rays dive through the waters and everything is still and silent and i have all the time i need in my pocket. it is like a time machine that connects all the emotions the memories of the past the present and the future every time i write. the same feeling that runs through my body and calming all my nerves and muscles telling them that everything's fine. then again, today i did not begin with the intention of writing about this and i digressed but the feeling's there again once more that feeling of tranquility there calmly flowing through my body and then i remember why i once loved writing and then it all comes down to the same question again:
what do i want to write about?
