There was a point when this blog was my sole point of interest for everything I do and everything I write. My writings began to define all that happened in my life, time being of no limit. Not only have I lost my wish to string words into meaningful verses, but also my feelings that defined them.
Writing for me was a vent, and thus a dark shadow of mine. But with dying feelings, my shadow decided to abandon me.
No feelings, no need for a vent. Escapism, undoubtedly continued, rather increased. More so, my dependency on the wrong factors grew stronger. I am still in this position, not much has changed, but to go back is a hard task.
To turn those bleeding feet back is not an option I want to consider. Writing was an upliftment, but also a constant reminder of my sorrows, my doubts and my tears.
I am not running away, I simply began drifting away from my own self and now I'm too far gone to come back.
Innocence was lost too long back, I lost my honesty too.
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