I've been struggling to make a decent post over the summer but I find myself staring blankly on the page. I tried to compose myself and revert back to my old editor-in-chief form and try to place random thoughts in the multitude of topics that just ran through my head. I start to type my nothingness and then decide to put it off if not erase the whole thing. I guess there's something about writing that still appalls me. I can't seem to wash away the intoxicated feeling I had when I was very much obliged to write. I really thought that after a hiatus or two that I'll be able to regain the passion that was just burnt out of my system. Apparently, I can't just blurt out all of the things I've been longing to say. Not anymore. Perhaps in my private blog, I can write to my heart's content. But here, I just can't simply do that. No, I can't do it without hurting one or two along the way.
I suppose what I'm feeling is also due to the fact that I've been so used to putting off the verbalizations of things that I would normal rant about. It's like a switch I've learned to develop and use ever since life became a little too busy. I just switch it off and start to focus on seemingly more important things... The modifiable things. And now, the consequences of my actions have materialized. The empty pages and the notable widened intervals are the product of my choices. This will persist unless I choose otherwise. I suppose it's time to choose otherwise.
I have much too much to say. Because I've chosen to keep quiet when I was dying to say something. I forced the feelings and hold the reservations too much that I believe it is high time to let it be and let it burst.
So, I shall burst with much too much to say.