i admit. i struggle to blog these days.
i mull over every word i choose, when really,
who pauses by and have a read these days

the clock seems to creep by
seems like the hour hands are constantly churning round
when one's not watching
soon, i tell myself
it will be christmas yet again

i pondered over having imagery on this blogsite
one image, and it tells them, on the northern continent
that i am well and fine, that i have longer hair now,
that i have gained weight, that i might be 25
that we might not miss one another, if we do brush shoulders again

but if i do post images
then would the articulated details on the photos do justice to what i want to convey
i munched through someone's photo buffet the other day
i felt sick and i was positive he has changed
i locked in that mindset, i was certain we are on negative ends of thoughts
we met up, and he proved me right
i have silently erased him from my mind
i am sorry, i shouldnt have looked in the first place

so, i say, i will not post any photos
i will give descriptions,
i will have preferred writing than typing
this font type is not me
it doesnt tell you how hard my fingers are landing on the keyboard
it doesnt tell you how many pauses i made
the ink drops that smudges when i hesitate
the cancellations, the first choice words
the tears, if any

i will write
whenever i feel like
hope this makes you think
when you post another glossy photo
what i see between the photo and the camera

you