I made a big life decision today. So I tore open a new notebook, promising to write again. Then I look to my shelf
A library of false, quarter written , promises. I’ve felt it, the emptiness, without having written words. Like a heavy heart, I felt an ache to pour out my emotions on a page, but the excuses came
I’m too busy, I’m working too much, I’m mentally fatigued. All of these excuses.
Shame. It’s been a year since my last post. Will I wait another year?
Or will I Fucking do it already.