\u201cYou write!\u201d she said. \u201cLittle does she know,\u201d I thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve been here. I\u2019ve been through these spurts of writing, letting it flow through me. When it cannot, I force it out of myself for my own good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Those memories are blurry. I don\u2019t remember writing anything in my childhood. I remember listening, having distinct thoughts, and moments I wish I weren\u2019t a part of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Things changed when I started reading a lot. The first spurt I had was when I discovered Dostoevsky. I remember not being able to wait in excitement while reading a page so that I could put the book down and start writing about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wrote mindlessly about people I love, what makes me hate them, addictions, sorrow, and ungratefulness. I wrote to put my mind at ease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time, it\u2019s different. I write so I don\u2019t lose my sanity. I write in nostalgia, allowing myself to dive into a never-ending fall while I write. Memories of her make me want to end it all, to fall into that dilemma again. I arrive at something and go on another spurt of writing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes, I will write her letters. Yes, I will write her hateful messages. Yes, I will write tiny paragraphs about how the rain reminds me of her. Yes, I will write a novel about her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ll pour my heart into her pen so that every inked word she writes smells of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t write to achieve anything. I don\u2019t write to please anyone. I know this spurt will be over soon as it always ends abruptly. That\u2019s the beauty of these spurts; I never know when they\u2019ll arrive. I love them so much that I show mercy on the fact that they\u2019re over suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I write because I can. I write because one day I wouldn\u2019t be able to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For what is a man without thinking, and what is a man without those thoughts on paper.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cYou write!\u201d she said. \u201cLittle does she know,\u201d I thought. I\u2019ve been here. I\u2019ve been through these spurts of writing, letting it flow through me. When it cannot, I force it out of myself for my own good. Those memories are blurry. I don\u2019t remember writing anything in my childhood. I remember listening, having distinct […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-273","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-bunny"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/273","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=273"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/273\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":274,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/273\/revisions\/274"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=273"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=273"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bunionsandfunions.world\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=273"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}