Where have I been? I’ve been climbing mountains, not metaphoric mountains, but real ground, rocky, tree and shrub bearing mountains. I’ve been sitting in the middle of forests, listening to what my senses tell me. For nature is all I need.

Why don’t I write anymore?
Let me ask you this, what is the point in writing?

Whatever I write has already been written. There are so many different languages and writings in this world already. So is there really a point in writing, when these words will be redundant and forgotten?

Instead I’m more fascinated by reading these different writings across the world that I can relate to. At times translations can be troublesome but it is worth the knowledge gained.

Maybe if I have something to share with the world that hasn’t already been shared, I’ll write again.

One tear drop of her shook my soul
I felt as if I were
drowned in a water bowl

she needed you last night
as much as she needed air
because she’s afraid as hell.
she was so afraid
that she didn’t want to close her eyes
in spite of the sleepiness she feels
because if she does,
the darkness would come in
and swallow her.

It's not what you would die for
that has greater meaning
it's what you would live for that makes
it all seem timeless and worthwhile