I write in a place where my emotions are too vulnerable. When I know that the words I wanna say just flows out of me, a place wherein nobody cares, a place where people do not know nor care what I am doing, in a place with no name.
I just keep on writing and writing and writing and sometimes it leaves me with unfinished pieces. I keep hoping that someday, that the old spark that made me write, will be back— that the unfinished stories will be finished—to have a closure—to put to an end to what I am feeling.
All I have is my netbook named, Sheldon and an iPod called, Pyxis (And yes, they have names). All my writings placed in a folder where no one else can find. In the simplest places you didn’t expect, where my eyes are the only ones who can see.