Well, what a day this was. Starting last night, I wrote something I truly enjoyed, which achieved two things:
1st, lifting a weight of my soul and 2nd, helping me lay off the foundation for something I want to pen down.
My lack of writing is not because I lack ideas, sometimes I simply lack motivation, or a muse, to make me get up my lazy ass and write.
Is quite funny how my last muse gave me a creational boost that I never quite capitalise on, and that is on me. But it made me write again after 7 or 8 years I think, something that is an achievement on its own right-for that, I never sent my thanks, and I never will. But yeah, it happened.
Even through I always struggled with direct communication, writing fiction or semi-fiction is where I managed to love, grief and heal better than in real life. The subconscious can uncover itself easier under the safety of: “It’s just a story”, rather than: “Let’s be honest”. People in general are very good at lying to themselves, and I am no exception-writing was my way to go a bit around that, just enough to improve stuff.
But this journey hasn’t ended, yet.