I have something to say.
And I wanted to say something.
I could hear the voices inside my head, whispering, talking, screaming even, demanding to be materialized into words. But this is one of those days that all you wanted to do is stare at the blank paper, do nothing and pretend that you are an existence in a world where people could not find you.
Half part of mine believed that things, when written are more clear and easily organized. I could see what went wrong, what should be eradicated and what thoughts exactly should I be allowing in my head.
But every time I got here, they were somehow, hidden and silent but you could still feel the vibrate of the unheard voices.
Oh the irony.
Back off voices, we'd be dealing with this different way this time.