I have to remind myself that I need to write every single day. Every single day. But this is a practice I have left a long time ago, so imagine how, lately, it has become intimidating, even frustrating to the point of tears, to look at a blank space waiting to be filled with words. I am not much of a writer. I don’t even consider myself one. I don’t consider my blog posts here as “writing” – these are merely screaming and crying put to words.
And, right now, devoid of any heavy emotions (except frustration over not being able to write), and living a life of ennui, writing can be quite a challenge.
For now, I must be content with this blank page, hoping later on this blank page will be filled. For now, I wait.