In no way do I claim to be a poet. Art was always just a way to bring my insides out, and my poems are nothing more but pieces of me. My inner artist that aches for a response asks that I share this blog with people, but my nature of a perfectionist demands that I don't. If you stumble upon this, I appreciate constructive criticism. Remember, though: perhaps you can't see beyond ruins to the building that once was, so you can comment on its architecture. Perhaps, you take a look inside. This is a communion, after all.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Procrastinating.

I made this blog many, many years ago. It's been so long, it feels like someone else made it. I was just about to delete my older posts, just like someone trashes old photos that remind him of bitter times, but even if i have changed, denying the past is not equal to moving on. And my, have i moved on.

I still feel the need to write in english, since it has become an even more intimade language to me, the past years. It's silly, since i'm only writing this so i will not study, which i have to. What difference would it make, if it was in greek?

So, what has changed. I have changed. Have you?
I moved on. Did you?
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