We fall 7 times and get up 8

I feel shame. The child that once wrote stories until midnight is staring at me through the thick glasses I’ve covered with dirt.I could say I’ve been busy, I could say there was no inspiration but the truth is I forgot my reason. But even then I mistreated my true believe that genuine desires has no reason..I didn’t write with a purpose, whatever I may have said after about inspiring others is validity not an aim. I composed because it was my way of breathing, how we inhaled was my words, the exhaling shaped my sentences.

I never actually stopped, many disputes have lined up in my head expecting for their presence to become authenticity and shine in the spotlight for a justified expanse of time.The marathon I’ve been running through has been full of emotions, but at some point I had to stop to take a breath and glance around.I am trying to breath with my words now; I am making myself listen to the pulse of what builds me blissful.