The Big Foot Solitude

My Big Foot Dreams are aplenty. My eyes know no bounds when it comes to that genre of life. Maybe it’s got to do with being a writer… Maybe it’s got to do with being a cancerian… Maybe it’s got to do with being both (yeah, I take pride in being both)… I’ve always loved solitude. And for what seems like ages, I’ve always wanted to travel as a writer. Oh and not just travel as a writer, but travel alone as a writer.

Soaking in every moment…

Indulging in every movement…

The thoughts in my head pamper me the moment I’m all theirs and theirs alone. Then, my big feet notwithstanding, small and slow steps pave way for 
a symphonic rhythm of hazy ideas. And then that 
rhythm just eludes me until such time that it sees fit 
to return, when I’m solitary again. 

When your passion is god, and work worship, it possesses you. If your passion is writing, you are a writer at every moment, at every instance. A travel then is the Muse that possesses you, not wanting to let go until you love, adore, and worship Her in all Her grandeur. 

What matters then is only that chair in the corner claiming your presence. What matters then is only the travel reining your ink. What matters then are only the words blinding your worldly eyes. You don’t claim your writing; it claims you!

And in the buzz of all these grandiose feelings inside of you, those around you turn into mere blurry visions.
And you know you’ve just got to let your feet, big or small, take you alone. 

And you know you’ve just got to travel alone, and soon. 

And you know you’ve just got to write to please the Muse…