I won't lie and say that sometimes certain words, certain need to step down, and certain 'hibernation' from the art instills fear in me. An acrid feeling that perhaps that was it? The times of the adept are far behind us? That perhaps in the distance that maybe the road with this 'Pen' is ONLY mine to dance with. That this art is only for me to carry on; indulge on what others teach me, but in the end of it all it isn't a role I play but a fiction that I exfoliate...
Perhaps there are many ways the mind can tease me to think... perhaps it is asinine of me to think that the end is so there and that a premature and an unfinished is what will be the result of this.
Or maybe because I have lived my life in pendulums...
It can only be you, you know. Everyone else...
Wishing for the Best.
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