Dear blog,
How could I have forgotten you? You, the one who has always been on and by my side. The comfort through a cold or rainy night. Your words are the bees that pollinate my flowering heart. Now facing an older self, late nights have slipped between my fingers like water. I like to think I have never stopped my dance with words. Let the moon be my judge. But mostly in the grey mist of my mind.
Poetry, or what I like to call her, my writing. Yes, my old friend, she comes back once in a while. I am not ashamed of neglect. Or maybe she has abandoned me. In either case, it wouldn't be a different story.
Death, I read somewhere, is the most interesting of our lives. How short (and hopefully so), I think, this death, this climax, which we spend so much time waiting. Just waiting. We are the prodigals of time.
I can barely breathe. I only drift in the river of time. Can you feel my heart beat?
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