She was this close to rock bottom when she realised how much she misses writing. It took her several dilly-dally years, two close death calls, different phases of depression, losing most of her friends and a huge part of her humanity to realise how bad she misses it, how bad she needed to write.
It's funny how important a pen and paper means to her, her lifeline. This flat feeble rope holds so much and carries a lot... It's time to unclog.
She was stuck for so long and tried everything to become unstuck but only succeeded in digging herself further down so she decided to just settle, get comfy and be at peace with being stuck. Sadly, the earth doesn't consume flesh half full. Little by little, pieces of her fell off and turned into dirt dragging her in some more.
She got so stuffed with dirt that she was literally full of shit. Shitty happy times, flimsy fun moments, fake hearty laughs and poker-faced bravado. She became really good at being stuck till it was too late... well almost.
Hence this, her last lifeline. A pen and paper. A dead me writing a dying her, asking, begging, hoping and praying that she wakes up and lives a lot more. Please don't die, stay alive, live a day more to wake me up again.
by: Atila
