Muse

So, it is apparent that I have not posted anything in the past months. And for what I have written in the past year or two, has not been a read that is worthwhile. I have figured out why. Actually, I knew ever since I stopped picking up my physical diary to write in pen. It's a sad and depressing well, truth. However much I do not want to say this, here you go: my passion to write lies with depression and problems and dramatic circumstances. What my writing does not care for nor stem from is obviously, the exact opposite: happiness, or anything near it. It isn't fair, so say the least. It isn't fair for my new memories and feelings and thoughts. My heart is either worth the breaking .. or well, I haven't figured out anything but that. I have six years to prove it and 2 years that haven't shaken my thoughts about love yet.