When my pen is inkless...

I need to get back on track. There’s a stack of dusty books need to be read. I really hate it when my fervent passion for reading and writing has plummeted like stocks.

Perhaps because of the excessive unhealthy fat food consumption might have intensified the disease of mine called indolence. Well actually, there is one particular reason why I can’t write—the absence of my inspiration (as I’ve mentioned in my previous tedious post).

I know I ought to start writing before my ideas would be eroded by my own forgetfulness nature. Yes as the matter of fact, I do have a short-term memory. However, when it comes to something really memorable to me, it will become indelible and engraved deeply on my heart despite my growing my age.

Actually, there’s a myriad of stories I want to write but my incompetency to express coherently and cohesively might be one of the main reasons why I’ve stopped writing.

I need to stop nit-picking and start writing. Well, I wish I could. I wish I could.

Seriously, right this moment, my pen is inkless.