confessions of a...
I stared into nothingness. Sure, I was looking at something very much alive and real; but I wasn’t focusing on anything. I was thinking of something and sense had taken a backseat. It was as if I had lost control; I couldn’t willingly move my eyes. Then again, I wasn’t trying to do that. I was trying to think. Something had to give. There had to be a way out. Ok. Focus. Now I had to seriously sit down and think. I had to get back on my feet. Literally. I had to somehow find my way back up that ladder. My life was going perfect, why did it have to change? And it didn’t only change; it took a turn for the worse. One day I am this amazingly care-free, slightly (ok very) spoilt young author. Today I was an unwashed woman who was slowly but surely growing fat; while she worked herself out of this mess, desperately trying to hold on to the remaining shreds of her dignity and failing miserably. The words which flowed as soon as my pen touched paper; eluded me today. They no longer