comeback

I havent been writing for a while, seemingly. The last post being two years ago or so. I was busy, busy doing nothing, busy procastinating, busy being busy with society's obligation to have a "real" job which pays you every month, busy falling in and out of love, busy shopping, busy contemplating being a vagabond, busy being a vagabond and busy observing, living and writing.

so here i am with my blackbook someone gifted me last year which ignited everything that was dormant inside me.

everyday i write something in my head, there is a parallel story running in my head as i see small things, continious frames of events in a day, as i stay still, as i cook and as i retire to bed.

Often I would wonder what would become of those stories if i took the effort to write them down. I knew i was letting certain beautiful or painful moments pass by. Sometimes I knew it was intentional, most probably I didnt want to share what I see. Yes, little selfish and laughing a little in the corner.

Well, I need an outlet. I need to be able to go back to those stories. I want to write. I am tickled to write. I am starved.