Things do not make sense even if they are supposed to. If I could write out what it is I am trying to make sense of as part of this writing prompt, I would share it on this very screen. Sometimes I don’t know what drives it. I can say it’s probably for therapeutic purposes. Writing has always been a blissful form of therapy. An emotional release. A physical release of energy from thought to type. Every action is a reaction.
For reasons I won’t repeat here, I am lost for words. Yet, I find comfort on these very pages where fans and friends are subscribed. Where colleagues take a break from their own work to look at my own. They are fans too. It’s a mutual appreciation. I’ve become a fan of many of my own readers. I’m lucky to have each and every one of you.
Sometimes, the world makes no sense. Especially among the good of humanity that works hard to make it a better place. You know who you are.