Write to live, Live to write
The first hour after I've woken up is precious to me. I try and make the most of it. I don't talk, don't read the newspaper, and don't check social media. The only thing I do is sit in my balcony with a cup of coffee and stare away.
What is hope? Some people think of it as an endless reservoir that supplies you with an unlimited amount of hope throughout your life. I think of it as something that is born, something that can die, and something that can be killed, too.
Nostalgia is a funny thing. There is no telling where you might suddenly bump into an old memory tucked away in some dark, less-frequented recesses of your brain or what might suddenly trigger off an almost dramatic flashback sequence.
Where do your thoughts go When they’ve had enough of you? Where do you put them down When they become too heavy to carry around in your head? Do you place them gently in the pages of your journal, watch them tuck themselves in between the lines, lay their heads on your words, and fall asleep?
Aww, little kitty cat, Thanks for making me realise, That it’s important to stop a bit, And smell the flowers nice. Hoomans are dumb, so very, very dense, They tend to forget the important stuff, But as long as we've got you around, I think that should be reminder enough!
Fireflies and Fairylights 