CHASING ( BLUES )

a person who writes

If I look around, all I see will be the pile of books, used paper, ink stained hands of mine and empty coffee mugs.

Today someone asked why I write.

This question does make sense because why would I do something as plain as writing, in their perspective.

In a world full of exciting activity, why would I do something which doesn't even give me a chance to actually see the greatness of the world.

I don't know 'the answer' which will satisfy their curiosity, instead the answer i know is truth.

Here, Dear let me explain..

Once Day I was sitting in my room doing particularly nothing....then I noticed something..that was the notebooks.

There were notebooks piling up in my shelves,on one random day I decided to read them.

I cried as I read those pages and came to think they weren't any great or magnificent.

They were just words, just phrases. But, they were words and phrases written by me.

Words I wrote in my despair, phrases I wrote in the middle of nowhere.

They were just so beautiful.

My tears soaked on the dead piece of wood, awakening the dried ink bringing them to life again as I smiled 'I wrote them, this something i can claim as mine,proudly.'

And this is why writing was never boring to me, to me it is rewarding, to me it's my companion, to me it's my favourite thing, to me it's my everything.

But, like every other person, I also have my demons, sometimes I fear them against my own will as everything felt like a sand castle I built near the beach, fearing that one waves will destroy it all.

The site of blank paper haunts me, I am scared that one day when I hold the pen no word will cross my mind....

what if I never again will be able to see my ink strained hands? What if I will never be able to read what i write?

They sometimes ask 'my muse' because I write so much, there must be something driving me but instead of writing because I have the muse, I write because I don't have any muse......

I fake it, all of it, over and again, forcibly make myself fit in the criteria.

There is an urge, in me, which keeps telling me to write,
Everything, anything, something.

There is constant itching in me which keeps pursuing me to erase whatever I write.
Every story, every page, every single word.

I want to create....
I want to destroy.....

Honesty I started to write because I was jealous, envious of people around me...they know what they want, they know what they like, they had hobbies, there were things they were good at, they aren't me searching the purpose.

But I continued to write because it made me feel like home. Like I had been wandering aimlessly and it let me sink to bottom of the ocean, finally achieving the peace
.

And somedays when i feel low, i repeat it in my mind, silently praying that this was truth instead....

I say 'I am a writer.'

But no matter whatever nonsense I brew in my mind in the end I was just 'a person who writes'.

🍁🍁🍁🍁

I don't write that much, nor do I have knowledge about basics of writing, my grammar sucks too....but if one day I no longer write, then I don't know what I will do? I will lose myself, my
desires ,my hopes, everything.
God forbid. I don't even want to
imagine that.

..

Thanks for the love and support...This book has already reached to 700reads and during this journey, I talked to really beautiful and kind people....I really thank you all with my whole heart for giving me a chance....

Byie....

Until next time
Nothing but love..

DAZE<3