It's been 3 months, since I stopped writing. All I do, these days, is to pick up an article that I had written long ago - part of a whopping 300 articles written over a period of 3 years - and republish the same.
There seems to be a kind of blockhead in my brain, a strange feeling of emptiness, surrounding the whole existence that defines my own, telling me what I hate to acknowledge: I'm finished as a writer!
I used to write, not because it's my profession but something that kept emotionally alive, allowing me to express my thoughts, ideas, and frustrations, in a world where I'm struggling to live with a purpose, with a mission to create a robust objective that would fuel the vehicle of my life until hitting a meaningful target of achievement.
What's that target, I don't know! What I know is, there must a milestone during my journey, that, once reached, would make my life peaceful, with all regrets making way for a sense of accomplishment.
I'm still driving, the car of my life, with a hope to reach that first milestone, that would offer me a sense of achievement and peace of mind.
Where are you, my friends, on the highway of your life?
Have you already reached your first milestone?
Image courtesy of [Kenneth Cratty] / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
