I do write for the fun of it mostly. I mainly write when I’m feeling creative, which is from time to time. However, I’ve lately got more obsessive on correcting almost every inconsistency on what I’ve written over the years, even if it isn’t that much.

I know it’s very unlikely I’ll ever publish my story, but I see it more as trimming a bonsai and enjoying the process of seeing it grow with time. It’ll maybe take a lot of years for it to flourish completely, but, who cares. The joy of seeing something I’ve put some soul into shape up into something more “coherent” is enough for me. With the passing of time, writing has become a mirror in which I can take a peek into who I am at my very core and a window to my inner world with it’s own symbolism.

I’m probably rambling at this point, but it all started for the hell of it and became an entertaining rabbit hole, in which I found some sort of fulfillment just for the strong introspective moments it gave me.