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it's been weird.
trying to think of things to write, wanting to write, feeling the urge to say something, even if just for myself.
but there is only silence.
perhaps its paranoia of what those who would read it would do.
perhaps its just self-doubt.
or maybe its just that situations are in too constant a level of chaos.
too difficult to tell.
trying to think of things to write, wanting to write, feeling the urge to say something, even if just for myself.
but there is only silence.
perhaps its paranoia of what those who would read it would do.
perhaps its just self-doubt.
or maybe its just that situations are in too constant a level of chaos.
too difficult to tell.
Comments 1
what do you mean? i love everything you have ever written and would never judge you through your writing. it your creative outlet, your haven. everything you write or say is your little foetus, growing arms and legs slowly and hesitantly. ppl know better than to hurt such a vulnerable creature.
perhaps its just self-doubt.
perhaps. but this is your writing/thinking space, away from prying eyes and ears and hearts. yours included. you should cut the cord and let it spill forth, let the hungry mouth of creativity feed. i truly miss it. for me, your writing was beyond anything else i ever could find to read. it filled a need, a void. it was my intimate connection to you. it was eroticism at its height, but yet never sexual. simply put, i miss its caress.
as is quite obvious.
i love you beyond love.
but don't tell anyone.
tis' my secret.
mmm .. our secret!
or maybe its just that situations are in too constant a level of chaos.i do hope it resolves soon .. but you are so ( ... )
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