I lay in my bed, wondering why is it, I can not write? Tonight nor for the past few days. Perhaps of is because I am far from home. From the familiar surroundings of my rotating white chair, the chipped computer desk, the dusty keyboard. And thoughts, so many thoughts, pass through my head, but I can not write them down. They don't sound the way I want them too. So if anyone is actually reading this, please realize I am going through temporary writer's block.
But, I know I want to get there. I hope you understand what I mean by that. And there is such an empty longing feeling in my chest that screams out liberty. That screams out confidence and hope. And if I never get there, I shall die inharmoniously with myself.
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I've been there, many times, feels like the constant high and low tides of a busy sea. I can hear their roaring in my ear now. Also have experienced that feeling of "dying intra-harmoniously" with myself, my insomnia, my blocks, my endless thoughts with no link with each other.. I believe "writing blocks" are good.. they happen to silently organize our minds, so that voice inside you, yearning to be heard, finds a way out .. by releasing the drags that keeps it inside.
ReplyDeleteMy Dear, Never stop being you..