Oh, where do I begin?
It all started with having to take some days off from work, I suppose. That and wanting to watch the Hobbit quite badly and, just as well, not wanting to clean the house. As a side note, even on my days off, I still have less time for myself than I used to 10 years ago.
Ah, 10 years ago. A time when my artistic endeavours were in bloom and my ambition was huge. Very very huge. My dreams were convoluted and so fantastic, I used to loathe waking up. I still do and my need to dream has been taken for a need to sleep. No, not quite.
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| I can only imagine being there, off on a fantastic journey |
The past two days, I have plunged into a universe I had almost forgotten, set aside in a shelf in my memory, gathering dust. An identity I had long ago buried for the sake of sanity and appearance.
Why haven't I written poetry in so long? Simply because there have been too many real things in my life to have time for words and fantasy and dreams. Because I suffer less for some love interest or another. Because the dog won't let me sit still for very long periods of time. Because the house needs cleaning.
Even now, writing this, I feel it slipping all away. The Here and Now won't leave me alone, chasing me into every corner I hide. Chasing my dreams away.
Look, they are but a small cloud in the distance, getting smaller and smaller. Poof!
