I look at my old notebooks, I realize
There was once an optimistic sixteen year old, who wrote the ideas of her novels down.
She studied how to write a novel, how to publish.. She planned it all.
She wrote down the recipes she wanted to cook, the poems that her lips pronounced before her mind noticed. The songs her ears admired, and those she’d make them up.
She noted down her first love story, Her pains, her laughs.
She wrote down sentences and quotes she read in books that reminded her of a recent incident.
“The eyes are where the soul declares it’s true nature.”
“Two’s a coincidence, three makes a trend.”
“Those who use their creativity to the full at work, likely to find it satisfying.”
She wrote down the movies she wanted to watch, the books with the dates she finished reading, the list of possible English O.L speaking exam topics..
She wrote down which universities she wanted to join and their admission requirements.
She wrote how she wanted to change the world.
How to make people read more, making books look more attractive by designing their covers.
She was dreaming, And I wish she didn’t stop.