How beautiful does it seem to pen things down? How much we adore the pain in words, on paper? How you think it is a bliss to be able to write? I TELL YOU, ITS NOT.
Not at all.
To bleed with only words . In ink blue and black on blank page, all white. And the worst part about it is, you can talk about all that you want ro but wont ever be able to open up your heart and speak. Thats what changes the game.
It is what burning you inside, breaking you up, piece by piece, every moment, every second and you cannot do anything about it but try to frame sentences to formulate the mess going around in your hand. It gets worse. It is tiring. MENTALLY.PHYSICALLY. EMOTIONALLY.
It gets welled up inside you. And then it doesn't really come out as ugly as it should.
Because pain comes out to be beautiful. As they call it.
Trust me its its everything but beautiful. Its ugly, its a huge havoc. Thoughts seem to be talking to each other and then argue and all you can do is listen to them , silently.
Arguments are never beautiful. Its get easier to talk to strangers. They dont know anything about anything and hence , again a blank canvas to paint black and blue. Square one, again. Painting the white, with black and blue . The words. The sentences . The text. The subtext. The spaces the commas, the semi colons.
The semi colons are the best. They describe life.
If you knw language, you'll know what i mean by semi colons. And my whole life i all but a semicolon. The sentence hasn't ended, yet it does not even know how to start. How messed up is my head right now ? I cant even comprehend it. can you? You feel it now? So much out on this paper and yet, nothing.