The Prodigal Writer

Ancient‘ may mean a lot. Nokia 1100, Yahoo and Barack Obama after this November. But presently, to me, my writing here has become ancient. My followers I am proud of are not finding new words on my site, thanks to my weakening will. Some poem I wrote a long while back is receiving likes from people who had by mistake stumbled upon it.

I know for a fact my will is shaking at the knees, ready to buckle down anytime. And this is why I made it a point to type today. This random collection of words may not make meaning to you, but finding the time, and the elusive creativity, to open WordPress with a purpose is meaningful and gratifying to me.

I may sleep today without the guilt that blankets me every day I don’t write. Nevertheless, I must mention, my eyes always close upon a mental promise to write something the next day. But tonight is different; the will has resurrected and the blanket has been shredded.

My writing is no longer ancient. Let’s call it contemporary cult.

Thanks for being a loyal reader; I don’t know why I am saying this, but I want this to be a post from my heart.

11 thoughts on “The Prodigal Writer

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