Sunday, July 17, 2016

On Writing

The longer in the day I wait to write, the dirtier my paper gets. Thoughts seem to pour from everywhere as soon as I'm up and threaten to spill out. I can be my most unbridled early in the morning, with fresh thoughts pouring out of me like a magical fountain. There are colors too, though you'll only be able to see them in the nighttime, when you're exhausted from your day.

I find coherence as I write. I allow myself to spit out the senseless first and try not to judge myself as I go. (All of us need to learn to not be too hard on ourselves) Later on, when I run my eyes over what I had previously written, the meek voice inside of me swells up, now suddenly awake upon running into a treasure or two. That's how I find my voice for the the day. 
The stuff that transpires between two people, keeping social beliefs and perceptions locked away safely in a box, is the only real kind of communication there is.
But no one teaches their child to trust more.
That's why you and I  have grown up with feelings riddled with doubts.
Which is also why you and I need to try harder to love without conditions.