My emotions are usually put out in words against crispy paper, ink over ink of endless sentence I never imagined I could fathom. Most of the times I wonder where these came from, when in the middle of the night I found my self listening to piano pieces, fidgeting like there’s no tomorrow, wondering what I need to do.
I want to write,
I want to pour out the thoughts inside my head, into tangible forms, woven words that I can read, that I can see so that I’ll never mistaken them as whispers that never happened, or memories long forgotten…
Blaming my lack of inspiration in recent, cursing the pile of notes I need to read… I stopped midway to think. I lost track of my thoughts, of the whispers, or the memories I wanted to jot down. The current that was gushing continuously from my head, from my heart onto paper abruptly paused and then nothing came after.
I do not know what to write.
I was scared, I was trembling… thinking of nothing, writing about never writing again.
I read the lines I wrote, choked and read it again…then write again.
Thread of whatnot, of echoes, of silence…pictures from letters that I’m trying to create, to paint when I do not have colors anymore.
I need to write.
I need to keep sane and being able to drop all that there is and all that do not exist into this space is the only way. My head will burst, split into half and explode if I stop so I keep on going, I kept o writing like all my life depends on it, nothing more, nothing less...that it is my life.
1:40 AM
I checked the clock, looked around me, try and listen at the music playing inside my ear and breathe, I’m still alive.