Puzzle Pieces in motion is over five years old. I started it back in the day when I was lonely sitting in a sad-looking building in a small town in Germany asking myself what the hell I was doing there. Years later, it was the blog that was lonely and I that was sad-looking. While I never wrote for others to read, I must admit that I grew tired of speaking to an empty room. Tired of the sound my own voice made bouncing of the walls of an empty room. If no one else listened, then why should I have to? If no one read my words, then why should I write them? The words previous painted, looked ugly on the canvas, naive and ridiculous, and the words yet to compose sounded like nails on chalkboard, painful and unnecessary. So I didn’t write them. I deleted the blog and for almost a year what little I wrote I wrote in the honest solitude of my own computer, not in the deceptive broadcast of the Internet.

Then, Mickey Mouse asked me why I stopped and, now, a few weeks ago he asked me why I started again. Twice I told him “I got bored”.

And so it was, once again feeling lonely sitting in a sad-looking building in a small town in Italy asking myself why the hell I was going away, I resurrected a monster built of dissected pieces of myself. A monster force-fed on old ideas, lecturing speeches and whining complaints; of experiences barely remembered, of feelings that died and an unsorted mess of thoughts of who I still am today.

And so here I am once again feeding it. Enabling it to exist not only as a skeleton in my closet, but as a monster under my bed. I guess the honest truth is that I love to write and dealing with yet another monster feels like small price to pay.