I stopped writing poetry. I don’t know why. All these words used to flow into my head, all these images that sounded so well. But not anymore. Perhaps it’s lack of practice. It’s not as if it were something mystical bestowed upon me by some divine entity which has now forsaken me. No, it’s not at all like that. You have to write if you want to write. And it was a good practice, poetry. It was beautiful. I should take it up again. Of course today is neither August 31st nor September the 2nd, but I’m travelling to the past to stop myself from being so stupid. Here’s Olavia from the future telling you, you have time! Use it. Do all the things you want to do. Don’t wait. Write. Draw. Sing. Read. Do. Do. Do.