Almost.

I still remember the first time I started writing. All I wanted to do, was make those words rhyme in my first poem, so when I read them again, I feel them. For me words, felt like the bricks to a smaller home which was both safe, and comfortable.

As a child, we see things, that form the silhouette of who we are. Sometimes I wonder if our writings are just words we could not use elsewhere, for if we would have used them, things would've been different. As humans, we ache for completion, and maybe, words gave us just that. Sometimes, all we want is someone who listens, without saying a word, who just hears us out. And I wonder if every person who ever chose to write had that happen to him/her rarely. I think it is the consequence of lack of understanding of reality, that makes us go to this world filled with our own thoughts, words, and artistry.

As a writer, I have seen myself grow and deteriorate, both at the same time. It is ironical, you know, that we as writers, have used the best of our talents, when we have been completely destroyed, or maybe, when we stand at the brink of destruction. And what is even more bizarre is that we hope and pray to stay like this forever. There is something beautiful in words that fill the holes in our souls.

This is a blog full of flaws, and flaws is what will make it beautiful. Flaws are human. I am human. This is me trying to write, as if nobody is reading. This is poetry, prose, diaries, and the other things. This is a blog, for those who almost said something, but then, they could not, so they chose to write, instead. This is a blog, for the clouds, that never rained, like they still ache to say something, they can not. This is a flower that almost bloomed. This blog, is of marshmallows, of unicorns, and of other things. This is about everything, that almost happened, but never did. This is soliloquy.

Welcome to my blog.

In the hopes of writing forever,
-Mia.