Whoever it was who said that writing is an art, definitely knew his books well. Here I am, staring at an empty computer monitor, willing my mind to bear it all. Easier wished than done, it just does not come out.
It’s been quite a long time since I willed myself to write, it was never a necessity. It still is not. But going back at three in the morning regularly, waking the neighbourhood early each day, getting into a cold tomb like room and then staring at the walls for an hour before sleep courts me, I felt the need to write.
With a pleasant feeling of jarring pain, I am just realising how tough it is to find the words. I always thought the words would be there inside me, waiting for me to get it down on paper. Not any more, not unless I consciously try, that is.
Words are what I make a living from nowadays, but what I really want to write, it just died inside me. Lucky for me that I am a firm believer in the legend of the phoenix – that bird who always rises from its ashes. Take a deep breath and you can still smell the sweet aroma of ashes on me.
I am on a journey of self-rediscovery – of a past, which I thought I might never get back. Accompany me, on those lines, on my long journey of discovery and of course the burial that has to inevitably come at the end of it…
It’s been quite a long time since I willed myself to write, it was never a necessity. It still is not. But going back at three in the morning regularly, waking the neighbourhood early each day, getting into a cold tomb like room and then staring at the walls for an hour before sleep courts me, I felt the need to write.
With a pleasant feeling of jarring pain, I am just realising how tough it is to find the words. I always thought the words would be there inside me, waiting for me to get it down on paper. Not any more, not unless I consciously try, that is.
Words are what I make a living from nowadays, but what I really want to write, it just died inside me. Lucky for me that I am a firm believer in the legend of the phoenix – that bird who always rises from its ashes. Take a deep breath and you can still smell the sweet aroma of ashes on me.
I am on a journey of self-rediscovery – of a past, which I thought I might never get back. Accompany me, on those lines, on my long journey of discovery and of course the burial that has to inevitably come at the end of it…
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