This was the date of my last post, but it truth it was January the 30th when I really stopped blogging. Something in me changed, snapped I suppose, and the thing I loved the most in the world became marred and dirty.
Writing has become like a scar with knotted fibres that can’t be undone. Words seem lost and the will I have, the need and the desire are all hindered by a mind that has become stymied and polluted in memory.
I have lost the part of me that drove my dreams and I miss it so desperately that I would mourn it if I knew how to. Instead I rue missed chances and scratch for thoughts and sentences that were once so easy and flowed in floods across my notebook pages.
But (and there is always a but), I want to believe I can regain them, not for anyone else but myself. To help close the void, stir up the inertia and to fuel the fire to warm the darkness. Most of all because I miss it.
I’m not sure if this is the start of anything, but the important thing is I am trying. If you don’t try then there can be no spark of hope. Without a spark of hope there is no belief. Without belief there is no sense in trying.