Once again I turn to words
In a need for reason
In a bid to understand
The life of a person
Whose, I live.
I believe that written words are the truest expression of people. Even a picture in its detail is compared to words. A finite number of words. I must advice here that one should keep one’s expression of one’s self brief.
Why then does a piece of writing seem like an appropriate expression of a person? When I write, usually in a bid to let something out of me, I make no attempt to structure the words. I concern myself only with the word in writing and partially with the next word. The relative randomness and free flow shows me a different person.
I also set a limit to every piece. This piece is set at two hundred and fifty words. Targets!
In this, writing helps me bring out the truths I fear to brood over. Truths of Love, pain, hurt, fear, sadness, happiness, dread, desire, affection and detest. When I write, I see the other world. One I either am not living in yet or am running from. Either way, it is never familiar territory.
When I write, I see that world. The one who constantly re-introduces itself.
Whose life I live,
Whose thoughts consume mine
Whose actions are mine to bare
In his world I am exempt
But to his thoughts
Do my pen have a front row seat