I kept on wondering, why is it that i couldn't write, not fiction, not real stories, nothing , i agree 2016 wasn't really my year, it really did weigh down on me. It was a rough one. I can say, i understand why they say life does hit like a bitch. It took me a while to know why. Feel me here, have you ever felt like you drowning? That your hands were tied up, eyes closed and mouth zipped? That you were being chocked up by your own mind? Thats how me not being able to write felt like, i just couldn't draw my inspiration, whatever i wrote felt lame and out of sense, until i realized, i was more than what i was made to feel.Thats right, it all started when i lost certain people in my life, first my grandma(may she rest in peace ) then someone else. Just out of collage, no job, everyone else making it but you? I felt lost. So lost to a point that i wrote, "i am drowning, i need a life saver, am choking from what is supposed to save me, i give up, and hope the waters take me afloat." Being rejected, loving the wrong person, unrequited love call it, thats something we aren't always ready for. It takes your will to do the things you love and before you know it, you miss out on alot of things. Yes, it killed me, what's worse than killing someone's creativity, what's more worse than knowing your shadow is probably better than you are, that you couldn't get the one thing that most people can. Do you ever look back at some situations and wonder how they ever happened? Situations that can make one aware of their flaws,that clouds your judgment, that opens doors for weakness, what a broken heart can do. Dwell on a past that you really know it can never be, put something on hold for you are grieving, forgetting that life has to go on. That a heart got to feel what it got to feel, and some things we just can't help but accept and move on. So i realized i had to unclog that which was holding my mind captive and admit to myself that i was hurting, broken and grieving and i had to let go, to accept that it did happen to me, that i wasn't the first nor the last, that life just happens, once i did, i wrote I wrote on my regrets for not writing, i wrote an apology for being me and for my heart not being captivating enough to capture a love that felt so wrong, i wrote an apology to me for being so caught up in a fairly tale land. I wrote a song, that i didn't want to let go, that i tried to fight hard, that i had to stay away though my heart was beating for him, that i was sorry he was hurting, trying to understand if it was pride or just me that pushed him aside and that i hoped for a come back, of a healing process, of wishing for karma to take revenge to moving on, to finding me. I wrote of a new found confidence, i wrote of new friends, laughter, tears, i wrote of a love song. I stayed on long nights to unwind of my tales on paper, i wrote of the things i couldn't say, of a crush i had, of how afraid i was that that garden i was eying for had a owner. I wrote, my heart out and my mind was no more clouded, the tales of a story teller, and on and on she writes.

Published by mary muema