I really wanted to write something substantial, but I can’t. For no apparent reason, I am beginning to loathe the world. Not that I am thankful for all the blessings I have been receiving but there are some unexplainable feeling of uncertainty and insecurity in the way that life unfolds itself.
I have been a scatter-brain lately. No inspiration. No organisation. Devastated… I am in drought. My land is beginning to crack in dryness and. If it will not rain soon, famine occurs.
To feed the soul is more difficult than responding to a hungry stomach for the nourishment it yearns for is too abstract. Too weird to figure out. You see, right now I am writing in metaphors. Why do I always have to hide in metaphors? My words are not huge enough to cover me in shadows.