There is always a moment when the dementors get you. That hopeless ‘why am I bothering’
moment. If I’m honest this thought
haunts and tempts me, and it is writing, this act of self revelation that helps me not
fall prey to their kiss, not willingly offer up my soul for the numbing
emptiness of the nothing of existence.
So how do you feel about that? Pity? Embarrassment? Envy? Yet today my moment of contentment was talking
not to one, but two friends, who are gamely ploughing through my prose. And being friends to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment