Writing used to be something that I did everyday. I dwelt in it wherever I went. I ate it, I drank it and I even dreamt it. Words were just all over swimming in the trees for me to pick and paper them. I didn't have the need to look for them, because they were just there.

Then it just suddenly dwindled and now my hand feels a tad nervous and vacant. Don't get me wrong, I still am a lover of the word. Guess this is the right time to fill my hands again and start swording my pen.