What made me stop? I don’t exactly remember anymore. Maybe I was too busy. Maybe I was disillusioned. Maybe I just had nothing to say.
Maybe I still have nothing to say.
It never stopped me before though. What made me stop?
I have half-thoughts and ideas that haunt me right before I fall asleep. That’s when I remember doing my best writing… at the edge of exhaustion, when there is nothing left of coherence beyond concept and thought and words flowing stream of consciousness. I was a good writer. I imagine I still am, if I choose to be. God only knows what I am, if I choose to be.
So I guess… hi again.