Missing. Somethings are definitive of you that leaving it makes you feel uncomfortable. It feels empty. That is what it felt like. I wanted to take a rest, relax a little from writing. But passion, it comes running back at you. It is the blood that runs deep in you. Flowing from head to toe, heart to limb, nose to knees, mouth to thighs, you name it. It calls for you, come, again it does the same, come, as if crying leaving you bewildered.
It does mean it is that deep. Grateful for such a connection embodiment. Where does the future go from here? None knows, it is where the writing goes. Not sure where I belong, it is just the divergent brain playing it tricks. Sometimes it is poems, other times novels, short story, inspiration, provocative thinking. I was ideally confused myself, that is why the last post, wanted to know where I belong. Though now have come to learn, just write, whatever that is, that which thrives in you.
To growth. Me being awkward here, me being funny there, me being confused there, me being motivational there, me being contemporary there, me being surprising there, me being knowledgeable there, me be loving there, to all these and many more. Cheers to every word created from me to you.
Photo by Randalyn Hill on Unsplash.