On writing

It seems everyone’s going all existential at the moment. Life is so fragile, and we need those times when we can just break down the walls and say what needs to be said. This is life, and this is why we live it. Religion, friends, family – there’s always hope. So just for a second, destroy your barriers – let yourself see. This is life we are living. So open your heart, and start loving.



I’m afraid of losing little moments in time. I’m afraid of losing experiences, sights, sounds, places. I’m afraid of losing who I am.

My writing is all pieces of my life. Every one is born from inside myself and my need to express, to preserve. Fragments of who I am.

no matter how much I write I still feel no one will understand me.

how can anyone? it’s only writing, right? it’s only made up. it’s Fiction.

But then again. Understanding is perhaps not what I am looking for. What then? what do i want? what am i trying to achieve here? i don’t know.

Perhaps it helps pain. perhaps by sharing it with people who may not even read, or if they read, may not understand, maybe just by the act of sharing it, in itself, helps me. Maybe the loneliness is not so great if it’s also…

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