And so it came

And so it came.
The feeling that had been chased away for so long.
The sadness and sorrow.
The longing and loneliness.
The devestation and destruction.

And so it came.
The feeling that had not been present for so long.
The need to hide.
To run.
To return.

And so it came.
The feeling that had been supressed for so long.


Lost in a world that is too big.

Saying good bye

She closed the door and sighed. It was quiet all around here. She thought of the day she'd had. The weeks. The months. A sad smile spread on her lips. It had been amazing. Sunshine. Wind. Rain. Storms. Mountains. Coast. Rainforest. Desert. Friends. People who made life worth living. People who made her get up in the morning and face it all. Once again, she had found a place on earth.

Three weeks left.

Good bye's. Departure. Seperation.
The smile turned into tears.
Time to face the end, once again...

Don't care

You talk.
I listen.
Words are said.
They seem important.
You're excited.

I couldn't care less.

Hit by the heat

Looked out the window.
Saw an empty sky.
With a blazing sun.
The trees are full of blue flowers.
The ground is as burned as it ever gets.

I wish I could hide in the fridge.

The walking snow cone

It was quiet when she turned off her brain.
Leaned backward, and saw what she'd been longing for.
A giant walking snow cone.
The heat was killing her.

The empty paper

She was staring at the empty paper. It was screaming to her. Emptiness. Loneliness. Longing. She was staring at the empty paper. And saw herself. How she herself had been emptied of everything, without really knowing how it had happened. The empty paper used to be filled so easily, so quickly. With a small movement, and there it was. The thoughts, the pen, the words. The flowed like a creek in springtime. She used to have thoughts. Weird. Warm. Exciting. Challenging. Old. Familiar. New. But now they were gone. The emptiness have taken over. The words are forced. Uncomfortably. She stared at the paper. And without knowing when, or how, she knew. She knew that somewhere along the road she had lost herself. Focus had ended up in the wrong place. Fatigue that had taken over. Free time filled with forced rest to have the strength to deal. The brain is being filled with knowledge. But is not challenged with other things. She thought she was on the right track. She thought this was the big thing. She looks at the empty paper. And wonders where she has gone.

Taking back my self

I used to write all the time. Short stories. Poems. Random texts about nothing and everything. The words would just come to me. I would sit down. Grab my pen, and write. I loved it, every second. It was like disappearing into a different world. A world where I made the decisions and controlled the outcomes. Although I many, many times did not have as much control over the pen as I thought I did. It would often grab hold of me and not let go until it had gotten its say. Short stories rarely turned out as I had planned. Poems usually took a weird twist at the end. To just let go of myself like that was wonderful. Escape from the daily routine. The daily life. The world. When I started university a two years ago I lost that. Writing became a chore. Not that I study writing, or English or anything like that. I study international relations. Which means that we write essays. We analyse why the world is as it is, and we write essays about it. Long, tiresome essays. And writing lost its fun. So did reading. I read so much for my classes, and wrote so much, that when I had a spare minute I was too tired to open a book or grab a pen. I've hardly written anything in two years. I miss it. Terribly. It's a good way to vent. Get everything out. Thoughts. Ideas. Speculations. So I am going to get it back. The fun in writing. I might have to force myself in the beginning. Pull out the words. But I'm hoping this will help. Have a place where I can write.

First entry. And as of entry two, I will write again. Write in the way that I miss so much.