Unwritten

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”

How do I know that I am out of my zone?  When I can’t write.

When I begin but stop midway-

When I lose my flow even when I know exactly what I want to say, what I need to say.

It is not from lack of what to say, No.

In fact, it is quite possibly the overabundance of things to say.

Perhaps it is that my experiences are not pleasant and putting my thoughts down will make them real(er)

Maybe I am trying with all my might, to get as far away from righteous indignation as I possibly can

All this so that I don’t allow myself to play victim.

It is not a look that I wear well.

It is off season, every season.

“I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.”

sunset

It could be the fact that optimism usually comes naturally. Lately, though, even getting it from other sources frustrates me.

When did a good thing in the very nature of its definition become so repulsive?

I suppose that shall be added to the long list of unanswered questions.

The stubbornness of hope, still manages to creep in though, urging you on every chance it gets, even when your situation tells you the direct opposite.

I suppose if you can muster only a fragment of it, that is one step further away from despair.

 

“When a man is in despair, it means that he still believes in something.”

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