After a long hiatus from writing poetry and proses, I find myself drifting. I am at heart a story-teller. I like to immerse myself in different worlds and dimensions, feel the moods and hear the thoughts of my characters. I find myself wanting to write lately, but cannot find the time to do so.
My emotional turmoil from the period of depression channeled my efforts in creating worlds within my head. It was the time when pain allowed me to be creative. And the byproduct of such dark creativity was slightly morbid stories and gothic characters.
It was my way of keeping myself sane. I couldn’t trust anyone enough to confide in, and writing ambiguously was an outlet for pain to be released.
Yes. I find myself lately to be in a gothic mood. I smell nostalgia in the air. I unconsciously summon vivid memories of the past. It was regrettable, but necessary…