Altair's Diary

you don't have a choice.

write and write

like dam in the tropics

leaving mud and muck

and the sun it burns

and the follow up question then becomes: 'what would make you not feel lonely?'

What would make you not feel lonely?

What would make you not feel lonely?

Like an unmarred canvas put aside as if waiting for some inspiration, then stored for a later time, before passed on to someone else be to more useful, the motivation which impulse yearned for a beautiful scenery long since dissolved into the minutes of the year, then five.

All of that, which was meant to be conveyed swallowed into nothingness.

I was a storyteller. A dreamer, a talker, a creative.

However, words were never my friend.