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Strange.
How I think about you still.
The distance of time has made sure you’re nothing more than a mere idea to me.
Yet, I think of you.
And I yearn to sit with you, and talk.
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Nothing.
Nothing, really.
I haven’t written in months. And where I am in life is not so uplifting.
(2 Nov, 2019)
If I cannot write, then what can I do?
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I don’t have the slightest of ideas to what constitutes Tumblr art //
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I remember you.
I remember coming here. To this space. Right here.
I remember writing what was on my mind.
I remember letting my walls down here.
And yet I haven’t been here lately.
I wonder why.
Why
I haven’t been to the place that once was reserved for self indulgence?
I wish to visit here more often.
Let my walls down.
And find a way ahead.
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Remember what we talked about notebooks?
Wake up. Figure life out tomorrow. Period.
Go to a cafe. Sit. Think.
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Melancholy.
“Don’t go”, she said.
“Don’t go, because I’ve seen the uncertainty that grows like weeds around something beautiful. And I don’t have the energy to pull these weeds out anymore. Stay here. Stay with me. Because I’d hate for these pictures to be past memories, like postcards on which I have a million words to pour out, but no one to send”, she said looking down at her shoes.
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A manual override, a conscious effort to break the cycle, get into a positive zone and making optimum use of time.
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If you’re half as fucked up as I am, I’d ask you to confide in someone.
Support plays a big role, not everyday can you expect yourself to be as strong as you’re going to need to be.
So find someone who understands, dig deep, and fight it.
Don’t throw in the towel.
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youre a ripple of energy and the places you go to, the people you touch are never the same again //
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