sometimes we have nothing in mind to write.
not because there is nothing in our mind, but because there is so much in there
all wanting to be written.
so many places and then we really have nowhere to start.
we are tempted to start with a beautiful place. A paradise in an island
far from everyone. It was at that time when they hurt us. So we need an island
to start with. We put shells. And flowers and birds. And coconut trees.
Then we wake up. This is not what is real to start with.
You change. There is an ugly place. A place where most of us were born.
Where we started.
Then we wake up again. These are better forgotten. Buried skeletons.
We do not want to be broken again, and be broken some more.
Even with one story.
Now you must see it. I have doubts. I am tempted not to write about anything,
but here i am. I just finished one.
It is an indecision. You do not really know where to start, or where to
go next, or what to do. But this is still the same thing, and it is
something that we cannot refuse to do.
We always think. I do, and i just did.
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