This blog has been vacant for quite some time. I can put that down to the fact that I feel everything I write here must be poignant and meaningful. I have many a draft building up in my files, somewhere, but I don’t seem to have the willpower or motivation to complete them. My problem is that I want each post to mean something; each post to be perfect. If it’s not insightful or inspirational, is there any point in it being published?
I’ve decided I am tired of the constant reminder that it has been over a month since I last wrote on this blog. For the past few weeks, I’ve only been putting off writing this post. I suppose it’s time I decorate my blog with at least some new material – however insignificant.
I was once told of three simple rules in life: if you do not go after what you want, you’ll never have it; if you do not ask, the answer will always be no; if you do not step forward, you will always remain in the same place. One could say that this post acts as me adhering to the third rule.
I suppose this is my second ever attempt at free writing – and my first on this blog – so excuse me if this ceases to be coherent at some point. Maybe it’s already reached the point of incomprehensibility?
I’m finding a love in the traditional literature devices, as of late – personification and metaphor; poetry. I am, by no means, a poet. I can’t find a rhythm and I’m not entirely sure how to conform to certain structures, but the poetry of language is finding a way to entice me. Maybe I’ll post some fictitious posts here in the future. Or maybe not.
There’s a poetry in comprehending things too, sometimes. When someone analyses a thing – be it a story, an action, an exasperated sigh – they are creating this poetic kind of understanding. They are taking a thing, which is often seemingly ordinary, and igniting it in the most poetic and beautiful way.
Furthermore, when someone understands you – there is a poetry in that, also. When someone manages to explain or to put into words exactly how you feel, it can evoke emotions that I have only found possible to evoke through the use of poetry. When you read something and you can relate, it can provide you with comfort in knowing that you are not alone but also with consolidation of your own thoughts. Sometimes, it takes someone else to say it before you understand what you want to say.
For me, poetry isn’t a literal poem like the type one might study in a Literature class, but it is the emotion of a piece of literature – written or spoken – that deeply affects another. To me, that is the best definition of poetry.
I’ve left my window open because I always find that I write best when I can feel the breeze and hear the sounds of the strong winds and heavy rain. If you read my last post, you’ll already be aware of my obsession with the more miserable weather.
I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently. I can’t figure out whether or not it’s been going slowly or quickly. My childhood seems to have lasted forever, yet it’s gone by so quickly. Similarly, January seemed like the longest month I have ever experienced – the thought of it seems as if it were years ago – but this year also seems to be going by quicker than I had realised. The entire concept of time is so fictitious and absurd to me that I cannot fathom it’s existence. There are days where I’d very much like to forget of the concept entirely and drop all routines, living life exactly how I desire in the time scale that I desire.
Since I’m in a reflective and somewhat challenging mood, I’ll leave you with a picture I wish I had taken.