i've been lamenting for some time now the death of my creative soul. i suspected it for some time but now, i confirm it.
i just can't. can't for the life of me pick up a pencil when it used to come so naturally...i ransacked my room last night, in search of proof of a person who used to express herself so liberally on paper with a few strokes of the pencil...i found my sketchbook of seoul...in it were sketches of the wild woods outside of seoul...memories of a days spent enjoying the fresh spice filled air of korea...
the last time i wrote a short except...the last trace that my mind used to flow with colourful images...in February 2006.
that was the year i took off...literally..took off...
i hate what i've become. really i do.
it's not that i'm unhappy, but sometimes i wonder if i've put a part of me to sleep, never to awake. the part of me that lived, that sung, that drew, that gained inspiration from the colours of life...
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