It's time to write again. Yeah, it's been that long. I wonder if anyone remembers me?
I jot down notes, bits and pieces here and there. Scraps of paper in my drawer. It's time for some writing therapy.
I've been called a freestyle writer. I won't always make sense. I won't always tell a story, and my writes aren't always born from personal experience. I will admit, this is my therapy. Writing brings me peace.
This love we make, full of warmth, full of passion. This love we make, born of want and wishes. This love we make, causing anger and hate, tearing our worlds apart. This love we make, to want so much of, or to be so rid of
11 years ago
When you hold that knife, make sure
the blade faces....away. You wouldn't want
to cut your own throat.
13 years ago
The quiet man. Don't give him too much power. He won't be quiet anymore.