I forgot why I used to write. I dont know where the motivation came from, who read it or what some of my posts even meant. I tried to remember. I vividly understand the surge in heartbeat when I wrote an article. Those non flickering anticipation that each word gave.
What happened to old me ?
What happened to my happiness?
I just saw that the blog was more than a decade old. This means, there are pages of desperation, inspiration and flow of emotions for 10 long years. My each writing would reflect my mood of the day.
Where did my power to dream go? Why am I accepting everything on way now?
Currently, I am a wreck. I am not happy, grateful or sincere. I am lost, devastated and nothing is clear to me. Things I believed in are now forgotten. I live in delusion of black tar. I am suffocating in it, and I cant see.
Would you believe if I told you I have been questioning everyone's happiness?
What makes people happy ?
I dont know. I dont know as much as I dont know what to do with myself. I am too egoistic to delve deeper, and ask the right questions. And I am too proud to talk to anyone.
That was when I realized why I wrote.
Was it my heart speaking?
It has always been easier to write. Like in a diary. I could have never been able to win a speech , but I could write. I have always been able to explain pain as much as I could experience it. It was easier, like breathing.
I am sure it didnt make sense to lot of people, but to me, it did. I knew what I was going through with each sentence.
Maybe, I should write more. Only my sister has been pushing me to write more. I should do it.
I never believed in my writing. It was just a farce. A joke.
But now, to save myself, I need to write. And believe in it.
What happened to old me ?
What happened to my happiness?
I just saw that the blog was more than a decade old. This means, there are pages of desperation, inspiration and flow of emotions for 10 long years. My each writing would reflect my mood of the day.
Where did my power to dream go? Why am I accepting everything on way now?
Currently, I am a wreck. I am not happy, grateful or sincere. I am lost, devastated and nothing is clear to me. Things I believed in are now forgotten. I live in delusion of black tar. I am suffocating in it, and I cant see.
Would you believe if I told you I have been questioning everyone's happiness?
What makes people happy ?
I dont know. I dont know as much as I dont know what to do with myself. I am too egoistic to delve deeper, and ask the right questions. And I am too proud to talk to anyone.
That was when I realized why I wrote.
Was it my heart speaking?
It has always been easier to write. Like in a diary. I could have never been able to win a speech , but I could write. I have always been able to explain pain as much as I could experience it. It was easier, like breathing.
I am sure it didnt make sense to lot of people, but to me, it did. I knew what I was going through with each sentence.
Maybe, I should write more. Only my sister has been pushing me to write more. I should do it.
I never believed in my writing. It was just a farce. A joke.
But now, to save myself, I need to write. And believe in it.
