I miss writing.
There were days in which I would enjoy inspiration from the smallest of things, those were the days in which I was the happiest. When I’m sad though, I can not find the answers to my problems and I cannot breathe through my words. Most of them tend to be nonexistent at that point and it’s such a shame. Those words were what kept me going, they let me know that the end of my struggles was near– I kept walking.
I ended up at a fork in the road and did not know where to go. I had a terrible sense of direction because all that I wanted was to find solace in one of the main things that I loved. However, I had long lost that precious jewel that I spent so long pining after and molding into something that I could fit into, that could fit into me. So I was alone.
It was quite comical that things were unclear, I understood them so well, but yet there was no movement. It was a sad and sweet sight, to know that there were still paths to tread on, but I felt disinterested because I knew that I would walk them alone.