when writing fails

I haven't blogged in the longest time. I seemed to have lost my "writer's touch", so to speak. And now, I'm left in that tiny space between wanting and not wanting to speak out my mind.

I used to think that writing was my best friend. That it could help me get through all of my aches, and pains, and tears, and sorrow. And yes, it did. For a while. But now, with all of the things that's been going on, with him about to leave, with work about to be even more stressful that it already is, and with me getting rejected over and over and over, writing seems to not be enough anymore.

I used to blab about everything there can be blabbed about and it usually doesn't take an hour to do it. Words scream in my head begging for me to type fast enough so they can be read already. Ideas flow like river flowing into the huge ocean. Nonstop. Surging. Fast. Fluid.

Why do you write?

A pen and a paper are powerful things. Probably one of the most powerful in the world. It can put a smile on the face of someone who just received ecstatic news, make the heart of a girl in love flutter, and can even make dreams come true. On the down side, it can provide the most heartbreaking news, make the happiest man alive cry tears of anguish, or crush your world. Whatever the case, things written down, are a testimony of a part of someone’s feelings. And the pen and paper are mediums for this testimony.

So why do people write despite the risks? What risks, you ask? A lot. The greatest of which is the risk of having a part of your inner self possibly exposed to the world, a world full of critics and disbelievers. Well, I don’t know the reason for anyone other than myself. Here’s mine.