From those statements, whether bad or good, I cover up to lengthen my patience. With that ample time and extent, I found myself listening to the unheard voices inside of me. There, I got the chance to escape for the soon strike of another batch of bladed words. Then, I got the blanket; wrapping at least my half, with eyes fasten on the screen.
There, I actually got the message to write. It was like words are ready to be in line for their utility, just as you read these lines. I admit sometimes, words are being unfriendly and unapproachable, as I only use them when they are badly needed. It is my decision and my choice to slide my pen on the paper, as the ink secretes what my heart tries to take note. Finally, I got them on circulation again. Words become my friend. They love to be maneuvered. They love to be played. They loved to be given a form of life. Writing becomes my interest. There I remain on their proposed play. I was completely mesmerized by the setting they offered. I freely marinate what I want to say and the blank sheet of paper turns to a colorful masterpiece of heart, soul, misery, story, passion and affair.
I make it not just an art, but also a virtue. As I practice to slowly push the button on the keyboard, I have learned to set my mind free and let the carpet search for the fitted words to use.
Fortunately, words get to travel with me.