A long time ago, I used to be good at finding my ways. These days I feel like lost in the shadows of my imagination. Ideas are raoming like ghosts in my head. A web of contradictions is being built in my inner soul, and nothing can stop it.
One way to solve my dilemma is to give up or fight. Well, I chose to fight with my weak weapons. Every day that passes makes me wonder how much it was easy to write when i was younger. But, am I really old. Twenty-nine years is old? What is old? Being old means more complications of life, more troubles and more responsibilities.
Where has that passion gone? Where is my pure gravity to catch these floating ideas.
These days I am looking for an agreement with myself; whether to go back to my previous condition or to give up. And giving up is the bitter option.