Old but all the same.
I’m sitting in front of the computer, staring at the screen, hands over the keyboard and I just can’t think of anything to write about. Actually, there are far too many things to write about; I just don’t know where to start. Whenever I start on something, I can never find the right words. It always seems incomplete. So, I erase everything and start over again. Only I find myself in the same situation I’ve been before and I feel that it’s becoming a cycle. So, I just sit in front of the computer, stare at the screen with my hands over the keyboard and try think of something I’d actually finish. Nothing comes up.
My father always used to reprimand me for never finishing anything I start. How about I finish something he and my mother started? Me.
Oh, the implication of that sentence. If only I could fully dedicate to it, no?
My mind is a mess, just like my room.
No one understands.
