About: Untitled

In regards to the previous post,

I do not attempt to rhyme; I never really want my writing to. But sometimes, it seems to contain a hidden rhythm; a rhythm of my mind, thought and heart; it is impulsive and concealed in meaning—that even I do not understand. I only attempt to put my thoughts into words as they come and go, like waves, as the words float towards me and give me the one and only opportunity to grasp it and use it. Nonetheless, this is prose. It is carefree prose; the only things it does contain are feelings and thoughts, bluntly put.

What was the piece about?

It was a transcription of my mind. The words that come are transcribed onto the page. Typed, written… words on paper. Sometimes even I have a hard time trying to understand how I feel and what my mind is thinking about. However, this one is quite clear to me. It’s about that very sliver of happiness or hope that can cut through a cloud of darkness and displeasure. It can be that one event, making a bad day seem good. It could be a friend, whom you treasure the time you spend together. And that very same friend who is there for you—most of the time— when you need him or her. It’s anything that gives happiness, hope, and energy within an exhausting, gloomy and uncomfortable type of … Weather.