When I was lost and had that violent desire to write, I couldn't squeeze out fifteen minutes to do it. I was too occupied by other works. And now that I have plenty of time in hand, nothing comes out of my fingertips.
Said to a friend: I think I've lost my carefree spirit. For ever. It's a good price to pay, and a good day to die. Everybody should grow up? Anyway, I have been able to preserve that child in my heart for too long. Twenty years.
Not anymore.
It's not that I'm not vulnerable, just that I heal quickly. I try to learn the ability to put the wound in quarantine so that it can't affect other aspects of my life. Every time I felt depressed, I could save it for midnight and went on with life as if nothing had happened.
Not anymore.
I am still able to work normally, but there is always a sign of that sadness lurking around the corner, ready to appear and smile at me. And I smile back, as if meeting an old friend. When you can't stop it coming, the best thing to do is smile. And, surprisingly, by exchanging a smile with it, you feel like all your senses are extended to newer, deeper, and wilder sadnesses. The sadnesses of this world.
It feels really bad being appreciated by everybody but one. It has always been like that until the fish came. Not that the others didn't appreciate me at all, some did. Except for it's just a single side of me or a side that they thought that was mine. This little fish, it appreciates me as a whole. As I am. "Where will it take you?", Caden once asked, anxiously. "Home", I say.