Writing has always been my salvation; a distraction from all the nasty things that's happening around me, an ark floating me away from the flood of negativity. In writing, I am most lucrative but when it comes to depicting a feeling as devotional as love, my body trembles, my eyes squint, my hand shakes and sweats like crazy, and my pen freezes till all I can see are the distorted lines in my journals like steel bars trying to crush my windpipes. I am still searching for the right words, and I am the writer in the room. But words can only get us so far, words cannot give meaning to something that, on its own, has none at all. Silence will only hone our poetry. Nevertheless, I don't believe anybody has ever found solace in love. We either receive too much, too little. Sometimes, it goes unspoken, unreciprocated, unfulfilled, rejected and unpalatable, or completely different from what we originally wanted. I don't understand how come a 4-letter word gets so complicated. We ...
We are not superheroes with big red capes or vigilantes who fight crime at night. We are just personas with pens in their quivers and who are passionate enough to share the rowdy thoughts devouring their souls.