Eight months. Eight months that you've looked at this blog in passing, dismissing writing something because it's been too long, because it takes too much effort, because you forgot how, because you have nothing to write about that you want to share on the internet, because you don't need to write.
It's always hard to start again, but the day comes. Maybe it's some external force that makes you realize the world around you is writing, writing, and yet you come home after a long day and just waste time on Youtube before letting your computer slide down from your lap while you fall asleep. Maybe it's something inside you, missing what used to flow out of your mind, marveling at the words you used to write, words that aren't too impressive but seem pretty damn impressive to you who hasn't written in a long, long time.
You think you'll forget to write. You don't forget. What you do keep forgetting is that all it takes is the will to start again. It doesn't need to be good. Hell, it isn't good. But you have started, and that is enough.
You say you have nothing to write about. This is no diary, and you would never want it to be. Your days of teenage angst are past and you're either in a state of emotional apathy or it's too much to share in public. You want to pour it all out, but only the things you want to share. And what does that even leave you? You neglect to think of the little things - the way you're glued to your iPhone camera lately, how meeting new people makes you feel, why you think you need a new pair of heels. Things that seem mundane, things you wouldn't remember on your own, but nevertheless things you'll want to remember someday.
And that's why you write, despite the laziness beckoning you not to. You write to remember, to look back, to never forget.
photo | miyawichawa ; flickr
