“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”
Having been gone for over a month seems like a vast period in time. But busy schedules and broken spirits tend to soil a good day. Recently, writing hasn’t been my daily priority, rather having left it aside, as one abandons an animal on the curb. It beckoned, but I turned, not looking back, and I felt i’d neglected the pure concept of the whole matter, that it hurt. Hurt because I threw passion aside for nothing better, as it happens often with us. Affairs of the second kind have become an importance, studies burying me deeper and deeper into complete obscurity. I feel I am an anonymity in this world for the time being, but it was a choice I’d made for now.
I looked back at a few pages of a journal I’d kept since the beginning of this year, and I felt my thought pattern was thoroughly simplistic and dull. So when ink dripped upon paper I found myself in a conundrum. I could not write, albeit the words begged to slip out. I felt that my prose did not ebb like clear waters, or my dialogue thought-provoking, my writing lacked a voice, a sound, a tear at the seam from ordinary life.
It was a disturbing thought, and I couldn’t get it out of my head for days. But as my favorite poet puts it, “it goes on.” I’m not out of the woods yet, and with tonsillitis having overtaken my voice and health, I’m just as grateful.