Words hold a much deeper story,
when unsaid.
.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ

Words always mean something. But what’s interesting and even more fascinating is that the unsaid words mean a lot more than the said ones. I used to dwell in words unsaid. I found comfort in them, knowing that what I wanted to say was out there in the open however no one ever really read between the lines. To be more honest I had never been good at writing, so when people failed to understand a normal story without any hidden words between the lines, I shouldn’t be too shocked to know that no one actually gets what I write. A part of me wants to convince me by saying that what I write is for me and not for the others, while the other part wants to find validation to the blatant truth that no on really understood or even read.

I continued to write, even after knowing that what I wrote never made any sense. But I always had this, lets call it inhibition that there would be someone out there perhaps going through what I am going through and perhaps will relate to my meaningless post. I could say that I wanted to reach out to people and convince them not to follow the path that I had followed and still seem to be following. It always gets darker and the light fades out at one point. Don’t get me wrong but in a way I am the one blowing out the last remaining candles with no match on me to light them back if there was something that could perhaps the change the dynamics of normalcy. I was so far gone that even if there was a light at the tunnel as they so family refer to, I would just ignore it and take a U-turn and go down the darker path.

No, I am not addicted to this. It is just me in general. When things happen, it sort of change people, I believe. Correct me if I am wrong. Experiences enriches people, they make them better, they enable us to make the right choices taking into account the innumerable wrong choices we had already made. Mistakes are a stepping stone and not something that crushes under its weight. The only problem with all the mnemonics is that it wold be all good with an effort made to learn from them, not if we let the weight crush us. And I believe I don’t have to explain where I stand in all this.

This had been getting harder each day. With things taking drastic changes each day, it just keeps getting more difficult to cope. And the byproduct of all this is that I have started to lose the habit of expressing myself. For one, I have found myself writing the same thing over and over and over again, and writing which one enticed me, doesn’t do that anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a very high affinity for writing, but it’s just that the circumstances are not enabling me to the do the best, or even a word. This is hard. Because it used to be rejuvenating but now, I just can’t, even if I tried. The forceful writing was never my forte. I believe in natural flow of words because they are more genuine and are usually from deep within, and even if they barely scratch the surface, they are still ones own. The others have always been pretentious or even forceful and it’s not like I have a huge fan base eager to read what I am writing. Maybe there never was one because of that very reason. It does make perfect sense, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not the point I was trying to make. The point being that I had lost the art of writing, and metaphors which once kept me company in the lonesome nights and (un)eventful days, it seems to have found a new place of it’s own. Well, someone has to be doing better. If not me, then they. I am not a very hopeful person, but I will try to hope that there is still a chance for them to come back to me, well the whole writing in general.

______

.ᴇ ɴ ɪ ɢ ᴍ ᴀ