A Discourse on the Waning of Creative Fervor
Freshly out of high school ... no that's a lie. One year into my Literature program, when a virus was fulfilling its world-domination dreams and people had real work like ironing newspapers and banging steel plates in the hopes that Microscopic Brother would leave them alone, I was home-upskilling my baking game, attending God knows how many Literature webinars and endlessly scrolling through social media. The hi gh school poet in me had since died, thanks to a sudden overload of books to finish reading for class. Therefore, when a random writing prompt on the internet asked me to write a regret letter to myself, I jumped onto the idea, blissfully ignorant of how many I had. I documented it. Whatever regrets the 19-year-old girl had, she wrote them down in bullet points- a snippet of which is uploaded on one of many social media platforms I manage. Now the letter ran a decent length but we shall discuss here the conclusion of it which reads thus: I hope the diya reading this ye
