Here I am again feeling this kind of creative craving. I can sense deep inside me are words forming phrases forming meanings. But all I can do is feel them and not give them life. All I can do is acknowledge they’re here in me, rumbling inside my mind but were never too clear to be recognized nor too bold to come out of me. All I can do is describe how they run back and forth from my brain down to my heart. They were’nt butterflies in my stomach. They seem like half burden, half motivation. They’re vague and heavy. Weren’t clear as sky nor as beautiful as sunset. More like rain of a gloomy weather and bokeh shots of lights on camera’s manual setting. They aren’t really clear. I hope they can be seen in its real form. I hope they can be read. I hope they can move forward outside me. I hope they can reach destinations where they should really be.