Yeah, even a tea master, who makes 100s of teas and less coffees knows what he’s doing.
I’m more than a little intoxicated. There’s no editor or proof reader to suggest me otherwise.
I’ve wasted a good time on being someone who I’m not. Since childhood I’ve had my eyes on words. And, till now my fascination with them hasn’t dwindled.
I could be better or worse. But, I’m a writer. I obsess with words. And, fuck the grammar and language and all the BS in between. I’m known for getting my point across. Through these little words of text.
My love for life. Words. Poetry. And beauty hasn’t diminished The love of my life has admired it. More so in the following. That’s saying enough.
I might be sucky at it, depending on your ridiculous and misplaced standards. But I am a wordsmith, minus the editor and the consciousness you have the luxury of.
I’ve wasted time enough. To learn what I am not good at. Be it editing, the visuals. Or, the designs and artistry am obsessed with right now.
I’m a good observer. Teeny details don’t go unnoticed.
But, I remain a foolsy writer. With words that I can muster. Vocab that’s shrinkern towards a puddle.
These words remain a testament. For I’m true voyager. Sailing across the tides of life.
Expecting something more out of a fish. Who’s the fool now?
I do what I do. Because I’m what I am. Not a blogwalker. Not a ranter. But a fellow writer.
Maybe I’m alone. Maybe I’m foolish with my comings. But, I am in the midst of a cluster of things. Trying to fish out clarity.
To You. Me. And beyond.
I shall remain.
Waiting to be read.