I have had somewhat of a block that has been stopping me from posting any lines - I feel like I can not write anything else than a simple letter. And even to write letters, I am putting huge efforts on it.
I am sitting on a nearly empty cyber-shop. I am listening to some music and enjoying my moment. I am checking my Twitter, trying to decide what (not) to do. I am trying to write, but I interrupt my writing to see anything else quite often - it's OK. It's always OK to get whatever I am doing interrupted.
It has been a while and some stuffs have been changing. I am opening myself to some new possibilities. And due to such "possibilities", I am interrupting myself again - for moments, I have forgoten that i should send a text message, instead of doing anything online. But it's OK. It's always OK.
There isn't much to be said. In fact, I wonder if I have evber had anything to say at all. I'm fine. But being fine isn't enough. Nothing seems to be enough.
"We're hard to please, aren't we?" asked Erin, during our chat on Facebook last night.
Yes, we are. Or I am, at least. I am always struggling with what I am thinking and I am always struggling with what I am feeling.
Lately, I've been wondering if people do understand what do I mean when I write about my thoughts or about my feelings. I feel like many people wouldn't reach the level of intelligence it takes to understand the meaning of my words, when I speak and type about my feelings and about my thoughts. People wouldn't dare to try to feel what I feel - and believe me that I feel way too much more than what I speak or type about.
It has been a while since I have been here to write. It has been a while since I spoke or wrote about my deepest feelings, because I fear to burst in tears. It has been a while since I've allowed myself to cry - I cried four months ago, at the funeral of a friend and eventhough I do remember about him and speak about, I haven't spoken much about what lies within me.
"We are hard to please, aren't we?".
It's been a while...