Thursday, January 06, 2005

What if how I write is less interesting than reading a newspaper and only presents a fraction of what I really want to say? Each word shrouded in nothing at all and utterly dry and boring to read? What does that say about me? Am I not in touch with my creative side, being unable to conjure parallels between sinking hearts and distant sunsets? What if "we are who we are, people don't change", and I'm destined to write in a scientific, analytical and anything but artistic manner forever? I wish I could get inside your head and find your secret to writing such beautiful passages so that I can amaze you in all the ways that you amaze me. But maybe the secret was not meant to be known and is better left undiscovered. Maybe my thoughts cannot be heard through colourful descriptions or clever metaphors. Words will never be stuck in my throat, everything on my mind will be said in a straight-line fashion with full truthfulness and raw emotion rather than hinting around the actual meaning. If I say it, I mean it more than anything I have ever meant.


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