Each of us have a personal method of healing from hurt and pain. If that is taken away, life becomes a misery. My healers are my words. What I feel and emote, I do through writing. Composing sentences and quotes. Paragraphs and entire blog posts. Expressing emotions through short stories and direct blogs. Sometimes though, there comes a time when life throws you such a painful googly, that your healing powers bite dust. My words just vanish sometimes. I might be in deep depths of depression, and there is nobody to keep me company. Nobody to get me out of the bottomless blackhole. People, yes. They keep me hanging in there, so I don't get totally lost into the mire. Other than these dark phases, all other times, my writing keeps me constant company. It is like a mild summer day, with fluffy clouds of thoughts forming inside my brain. Then the words appear like wings and carry me away on a journey. Stories happen anywhere. Something I read or watch, or something comes in ...
Keeping it light and fluffy on an increasingly snark-heavy planet.