On Writing
I guess it has been too long since the last time I wrote anything. Way too long that I start to forget how to do this.
I’ve been blaming life so much that I don’t feel like blaming it again for my inability to write whatever things in my head.
The voices are still there, talking, engaging me in discussions about whatever new weird things I found fascinating, or critical about.
There are times I really miss it.
Making up poetry out of no where.
Humming a random melody in my mind and thinking of recording it.
Sitting outside and took simple pictures.
Maybe this is what being adult is all about.
Maybe the more you grow old, the more you just don’t bother about things.
You just get tired of everything, even the things that used to make you happy.
I think it’s kind of sad.
Maybe everyone is a little sad.