Hi… Reader, I guess.
All of us, we have this thing: we can never be sure, of anything.
Who “us”? We writers!
Every so often we come across a feeling, or a moment, we think we can write the most epic stuff about, and then we pick a pen and put it to paper, write a few lines, and nothing more. The few lines penned down aren’t necessarily epic. In fact almost all the time, they are mere drawls, on a piece of paper, of someone pining after something, or whining about something.
We read them, over and over again, trying to think of colors to add to the painting, or what lights to focus where, or what drapes to throw in. We are never sure if the words we used are the right one, if we could have used them better, or used better words. We are not sure about the feel of the read, or the structure. We are not sure if the feeling we want to put through is important enough, or significant enough. The only thing we are sure about is that we aren’t sure about anything. So, we twist and turn the lines, jumble with a few words, and yet, the drawls on the page keep falling apart.
All of us, we have a feeling that starts everything. The feeling isn’t something we can explain, or talk about. It can only be felt, in the deepest and the darkest corners of our heart, while we sit, crawled up under the bed, or behind the curtains, fighting our own mind. The feeling is so strong that it gives us pain. Not metaphorical pain. Literal, actual pain, like someone is jabbing at our chest with a metal rod. It’s this feeling that we need to put through to you. And it is also this same very feeling that messes our head so much that we cannot put a few words together, properly.
So we stay crawled up, where ever we are, and we hold ourselves together with tape and glue… in the hope that sometime, someday, in a while, the drawls on the sheet of paper would make more sense, that they would look more beautiful, that we might perhaps be sure of them, sure enough to let someone see them.