I don't know what to write but yet I write still, hoping the words would come to me eventually,
And they do, a couple of lines at a time, sometimes with meaning and sometimes without and to the meaningless ones I give meaning,
And sometimes the very good ones come like whispers, like something carried by the wind, gentle and subtle, and I try to listen because if I don't I'm back to where I started,
With just a pen in my hand.
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P.S
Me, literally almost all the time, anytime I decide to write I become somewhat out of words to use for my narration but they do come eventually.
~Robyn~
YOU ARE READING
The heart that cried wolf
Poetry~ This book contains several write ups like the one below ~ I use to think that whatever you put into the universe would always come back to you, just like a boomerang, but not all boomerangs return to their throwers, I've played the role of putting...
