It seems like such a simple thing, and yet in some ways it is not. Not having the means to do the things you dream imposes a different kind of loneliness: for what is a writer without words, a singer without a song? It seems incredible that "such a simple thing" could stand in the way.

It's kind of odd that I feel a little more free blogging here than at my old one. I've had that for years, which is why I am reluctant to let it go. The highest highs, the lowest lows, the failures and the thriumps, they are all recorded there. Leaving it would be like forgetting an old, favorite toy, or burning a few years' worth of journals. But perhaps, my old blog and I have reached the peak of our relationship, that there are no more words left to say. I must admit that I feel less conspicuous here than when I blog there, my blog which seems to have everyone's eyes on it. Or perhaps, it is just simply time to grow.

I intend to. This will perhaps be just a temporary shelter: my cocoon before blossoming into the full-pledge butterfly, a place to lay low before leaving one world and entering another. Before long, I'll be seeing you all at another place, sometime soon, I hope.