Literature
New Year
2017
I know my soul exists.
I have felt its presence,
but it has become so comfortable
it has fuzed with this bubble i call my life.
Somehow, among the stories I mindlessly consume, the idea of writing flowed back in.
It reminded me of how it used to be without the safe guard.
Boundless.
And so I start to write inside my bubble.
It is getting bigger.
I have to see colours again,
even the painful shades of yellow that can make you fly.
The dusty blue hues must wash away
and mix to become green,
the colour of new things.
The first few leaves are thin.
They need rich black soil to grow,
but you can't make that without the colour red.
Maybe