I never had much ambition of becoming anything in life, but I have had dreams.
Dreams of being able to just write what is in my head, but I am scared it won’t be any good. So it isn’t deserving of seeing the daylight.
Writing is a sort of therapy sometimes, just scribbling down on paper and letting it lead to wherever it is going. It’s like a unknown or undiscovered the space of your mind. In my mind there are many things.
I spend a few hours each day letting my brain wonder off, it’s a well known effect from just staring out of the window.
I wish there was a way for me to write things that made sense, or at least that someone found it entertaining. But I am going to be honest that is not the case.
I am one of those bloggers that had a good run, but due to life. A lot of it just disappears and there is no way of retrieving it, as it is lost. Maybe I could have been a good one, if I didn’t think that I would actually have to be something with substance or relevance to the world.
What if it was just stories, stories of life or absolutely nothing. As I often feel that is what is inside me, stories. Not reality as it seems like I have been going for. Maybe that isn’t my path at all, maybe all the stories as.
What if I just look at a picture and give it a name, a story and life. Will that change it all?