Writing Again
(Thanks to Alinta, you inspired me) - So today I feel inspired to write. It must be tiredness or something, but meh.
(It has been a while, so please be kind)
It is a sort of inner serenity that seems so hard to reach, yet once you are there due to no effort at all, it all seems so worth it.
You find yourself smiling for no reason at all.
Yet at the same time tears well in your eyes, and it is the point at which you realise that you are at the edge of sanity and emotionality.
It all seems too much sometimes, but all at once it all seems to be okay.
Deep Breath.
Open eyes, that strange calm that is anxiety and stillness all at once.
The inspiration of words, of artistic quality, yet no sound comes out of parted lips.
She wonders, 'what am I doing here?'
A question asked many times over, a connotation that this time is entirely different.
Wonderment at what has passed, at what might be....
Shyness.
Shyness against the world, against potential, against one's own self.
'What am I doing here?' 'Why did I put up with what I did for so long?' 'Why aren't I strong enough to just say no?'
Abashed, proud, strong-willed and minded, though there are times when it seems for nought.
Despondence.
To keep oneself from falling in deeper, Alice down the rabbit hole and never seeing an end to it.
Eyes search the floor for courage, and nothing pops up. Instead, it is easier to seem modest, to say nothing, to wait.
'Wait for what?'
Waiting for the future, yet at the same time hesitantly approaching it, as an animal coming up to fire for the first time, feeling the heat start to burn their face before they realise that it is harmful.
Deep Breath.
(It has been a while, so please be kind)
It is a sort of inner serenity that seems so hard to reach, yet once you are there due to no effort at all, it all seems so worth it.
You find yourself smiling for no reason at all.
Yet at the same time tears well in your eyes, and it is the point at which you realise that you are at the edge of sanity and emotionality.
It all seems too much sometimes, but all at once it all seems to be okay.
Deep Breath.
Open eyes, that strange calm that is anxiety and stillness all at once.
The inspiration of words, of artistic quality, yet no sound comes out of parted lips.
She wonders, 'what am I doing here?'
A question asked many times over, a connotation that this time is entirely different.
Wonderment at what has passed, at what might be....
Shyness.
Shyness against the world, against potential, against one's own self.
'What am I doing here?' 'Why did I put up with what I did for so long?' 'Why aren't I strong enough to just say no?'
Abashed, proud, strong-willed and minded, though there are times when it seems for nought.
Despondence.
To keep oneself from falling in deeper, Alice down the rabbit hole and never seeing an end to it.
Eyes search the floor for courage, and nothing pops up. Instead, it is easier to seem modest, to say nothing, to wait.
'Wait for what?'
Waiting for the future, yet at the same time hesitantly approaching it, as an animal coming up to fire for the first time, feeling the heat start to burn their face before they realise that it is harmful.
Deep Breath.