am I an afterthought to an action. An expression to a regret or a regret to an expression. Would it matter if you adorned me with a name, but never owned me. Never claimed me in the night like every night that I waited and still wait. One eye to the door expecting it to open and the other to life and knowing you will never come. Silent steps will always be silent. Steps of my dreams where they and you will always remain.
Often bloggers, authors, writers, and people will claim they don’t have “time” for blogging. I’ve found that people often have far more time than they realize. People are just incredibly lazy and want “something” for nothing. You create the blog it doesn’t create itself for you.
Could I write the pattern to my heart. Leaving stepping letters like stones towards my meaning. The meaning of each word lending itself to the sentence. Sacrificing sentences to describe the moment and using overly flowery language to avoid offense. Isn’t blogging great?