This is me writing spontaneously without edits and doubts
that will eventually consume me.
I keep coming back to the one thing which almost shattered me but I refused to give in because despite being so disappointed over and over again…
my soul told me to come back.
I am forgetting about the rules of writing because 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
I almost left because I thought I’d pursue in something that would give me the result now. I’m tired. I feel hopeless at times. But I didn’t.
And I didn’t because this is my only escape – to create, to fail and create again anyway.
I’d suffer for this because it satisfies me. It makes me feel unapologetically that I’ve become alive again.
I’d break for this because I know it will be the one that heals me again.
And I didn’t leave because my thoughts are loud.
They’re so loud I could hear them knocking on my skull, and hear them ringing in my ears – waiting for me to scream those thoughts. But I wouldn’t speak a word.
I’d take a paper and pen to scribble nonsense and ramblings of things that I’ll never announce to the world…
I keep coming back because my dreams become real in paper. Words would dance before me even when others don’t see them. They’d flow like streams towards a dead valley surrounded by mountains and trees – all those things that to me… feel like I am home. Stories felt real; characters become my friends; imaginary places become my home – my worldly paradise.
And I keep coming back because I’ve gone this far…
But not far enough.
Even if I’ll feel the need to stop again, I know I’ll keep coming back because I am not here for the the material gains and trends. I am here because my soul needs its writer. And that’s me. And only me.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you to stop, not even yourself because you will… keep coming back.