Stress dawned on me like a silent wolf
ready to pound, ready to howl.
. . . . . .WHERE I AM IS NOT WHERE I WANT TO BEBlank pages (in this case, blank screens) are blank canvases waiting to be painted by the master wordsmith. I can depict the stars, the moon, the universe with just the tip of that trusty old pen. I can create riches, food, emotions and things people envy. I can even make a world of my own!
Unfortunately, I have lost the Midas touch. I have been suffering from writer's block for two years now and i have been unable to create compositions that ponder the heart. I need to freshen up a bit. I miss the world i once belonged. I miss the feeling of contentment after i place the last period of my works. I miss the joy of spending endless nights just to come up with a fitting tittle. I miss writing in its entirety. I miss ME.
Oh Reimond. Where are you now?. . . . .REGRETS. CONTEMPLATION.Autumn evenings my lovely screen. Today I realized that doing something without your heart is laborious. Of course I learned that in the 17 yrs of my life and I'm sure you have too, it's just that today, it seems more profound.
Studying accounting has it perks. And like all things, it has it's cons too. The first pro is the of pride you get when you hold those thick books. It immediately elevates your intelligence first-impression-wise. Secondly, you mingle with intelligent people and have intelligent friends. Third, you enjoy the privilege of being a part of the "cream of the crop", the most brainy among the courses offered in your school (in our school at least). Aside from those three, you also have the chance to become a Certified Public Accountant if the Fates favor you.
But when your heart is elsewhere, you never enjoy the goods. Everyday is a struggle. Everyday is regretful. Everyday is a contemplation of not following your dreams, of not being brave enough to stand on your own, or not defying peer pressure, of being afraid to fail.
Sometimes I wish I made the right choice. I look at my past now and there I was lost in the whirlpools of time.
Disclaimer: It is a mere natural occurrence for writers to be inspired by other people's works. This is not to say that the following paragraphs are unoriginal, but to simply state that this is an evolution, if not an alteration of someone's ideas.
Senseless phrases black and blue,why are they all about you?Crumpled pieces on the floorwatch me burn them at your door.. . . . .Faint moon, like ahazy balloonBlue night, I'mafraid of flight.. . . . .I walk through lifelike the air that moves around.Invisible. Colorless.A substance unknown.. . . . .I need an applefor which my eye will bore throughMy heart is full of lovewithout an object to give it to.. . . . .We're two loaves of breadtoasted togethersmothered with buttersprinkled with sugargarnished with pickleshugging sardinesor bacon, lettuceand tomato,eggs and baconor simply cheese.whatever's in betweenwe're culinary heaven.
I have trust issues. My mother won't-
How does a butterfly, let go of it's shellwhen the fig twigs tangle its freedom?How doth a flower bloomwhen winter in it's bleak glory,brings about it's doom?