Four Winters and 110 Days

It's been almost four years and four months since I've last written here. Four winters passed away. Twenty became Twenty-Four.

So much events - the good and the bad, the very bad, so many stuffs, so many thoughts. They are clouding my mind now. I can't think clearly. My sleep has almost abandoned me-the only way to escape the reality that is constantly trying to crush me and through me down a never-ending dark abyss. It's sad really. I don't have any natural talent for writing things as they went. It seems like the only time I can write down my thoughts into letters when I can't see an imminent way out of the crushing pressure.
 
I don't write because of not having the time. Because performing the daily trivial routine is the very key to the better future. Staying a million miles away from where the life beats,never get sucked into it because that's for lesser beings. Don't have feelings and emotions. Uphold the values of ancestors. Never be the one to besmirch the family name. Can't write because the source of the powerhouse that kept you going is gone and doing anything doesn't matter anymore. Keep the parting words and they haunt you every waking moment because of your inability to keep them. But any of these things shouldn't really be reason to stop doing something. The extreme chaos of life shouldn't be the only environment that compels me to write. 
 
I do love writing. About the good and the bad, about the dreams and the daunting future, about the pain and the rage, about the angels and demons that live inside, about the beginnings and endings of stories. I really do. I think it's time that I start again. I should. Maybe I will. Maybe this time, I'll hold onto it.