Back Home, Once More (Or Trying To, to Be Precise)

She used to have a habit of writing down everything.

A picture worth a thousand words, they said. However, when you had nothing to capture those picturesque moments, what would you do in turn? That was when she chose to record everything through adjacent letters, be it senseful or not. She had to admit though, that even if she’d always loved writing, she wasn’t good at putting her thoughts through words.

Lately, she had been missing so many events left unrecorded. So many thoughts scattered and being left to no use, nothing to be recalled whenever she wanted to. She simply lost the will to etch more and more memories, to keep them in a form none others would find it endearing but herself.

Ah, it would probably be good to be back again, she thought to herself. Yet words had been long gone from her mind; she almost completely lost her ability to tell stories. All these past months, she had been numb to everything. Emotions washed over her like tidal waves, but nothing lasted for long nor left so much as an impression.

She had been away for so long; she could no longer remember a way back home. She was longing for the comfort the experience gave whenever she was able to pour her heart out—albeit not entirely—but it satiated her nonetheless. It might be just a wishful thinking of hers, but if one day she could regain her willpower once more, she would always make an effort to come back. She would come back, not only at the times when the world was crushing her with all the cruelty it brought, but also whenever she was in joy and having so much as a little confidence towards life. She dared not to make an oath; she was terrified she might end up breaking it as usual, but she still gave her words nonetheless.

Here’s to so much as a little faith we have, and to leave marks of life at wherever roads we pass.