BACK FROM THE EDGE

I give up on writing. 

Really. 

It's not what it used to be. 

It no longer feels warm. 

I remember my first time on Wattpad and how butterflies formed in my belly when I read different stories, and I thought 

"Ah, wouldn't it be nice if someone else could have a taste of this feeling of bliss"? 

This was how my love story began until I was swayed into the arms of another in search of a solution to my many problems. 

A journey of hatred and suffocation started. 

Why, you may ask? 

Well, I won't mince words when giving my answer. It's too accurate to miss😂

That which I once held dear became a bitter experience. 

It tore the garment of my soul! 

It gave me the feeling of an American male teenager who has parents who are always at loggerheads. 

No comfort. 

No solace. 

No calm. 

Just a space filled with darkness as thick as a forest. 

I used to live for writing. 

It was the bane of my existence. 

It was my happy place and the one true bubble that didn't burst up in my face. I wondered what changed so many times, and it's laughable. 

Arrgh! 

A girl who loved the scent of new books—the scent that comes off of a new pack of pencils—that scent, when mixed with the rain, sand, and a comfortable position, drives in a feeling of euphoria. 

Now lifting a pen seems exhausting and heavy—heavier than a rock. 

It's currently walking down the aisle to take the crown previously held by pain and dragging spaces with depression, and this became the straw that broke the camel's back. And now, I take a bow and leave you, who I once loved. 

I leave your clutches, which were once warm embraces. 

I leave thy thorns, which were once roses filled with passion. 

I leave your toxicity and embrace a new, flourishing bosom. 

I leave with my head held high, knowing it's the right thing to do. 

A new way to bask! 

A new way to become a new me! 

A new way to create intimacy with an old lover! 

Now I'll do something different—something true and genuine, hoping to return. 

Now, I'll write what I love. I derailed from a path of peace in a bid to attain new heights, not knowing the dangers and consequences ahead. 

Now, I will write for myself. 

I'll write about things that matter. 

I'll write about the happy days filled with a mix of sunshine and rain. 

I'll write about all the good things and forget the dark memories of my past. 

And so this is my call to you. 

Why did you start that business? 

Why did you start that brand? 

Why did you start anything you loved? 

You can still go back. There's no need for a map. 

Just run down the street. You'll feel the familiarity once you do. 

The breeze of nostalgia will show you the way back. It's never too late.

Till next time,

D.