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I used to write. Poetry; songs; what I thought were artistic thoughts. Now I refrain. Why have I forsaken myself? To say would be to reveal but not too revealing.

‘Tis different now than ‘twas in the late aughts. Empty space now spilling over with movement; action; direction. Helpful, yes, but hopeful? Pray not.

Do these thoughts still reside though they receive no time? Or is the act gone entirely? The ability to do now static. Frozen in time. In words; in song. A by-gone year but a gone-by talent? Shudder to think.

There! The issue arises! Thinking is the eye of the storm. To live days doing is a gift but to live through thought enriches life. It bears a whole new plane and widens expanses. Suddenly – music; verses – completely surround. ‘Twould be suffocating if not so pleasureful. Pride in a self-made Wonderland.

The key is to remember. The feeling; the blueprint. Keeping that is keeping sanity – is keeping life in all its graces. Keep. Peek. Take the time to look.