Drained from creativity, blocked entirely, since I was in 3rd grade apparently. Slowly turning to stone, a soft, funny and lovely one they enjoy to sit on, but where am I?
Not even words are enough anymore, they never really were, am I wrong?
They say it's part of the journey to find out, I get it but it is fucking hard.
Frustration.
The feelings clash like the waves of this ocean that's my home, as chaotic as the way they move once a rock is in their way. It hurts to say goodbye, more than ever, and I wonder how will I be able to move once I'm back.
Either this will give me more push, or this will make me drown in pain. I dream of Spain, you there, better.
I need to come back, once some of my dreams are ready, but also right now, constantly. I'm so sad once I'm alone with myself, but living the moment with you, I'm almost full again.
