But then i couldn't, really.
It has been happening all too often.
Sometimes i forget what was it that i wanted to write about.
But most of the times i find writing about things that truly stir me- be they bad or good, overwhelming.
Writing is like catharsis to me. It's discomfitting while i go through it but gives me peace when i'm done with it.
Is that the problem? Have i realized that peace is not where revolutions happen? That maybe writing will take me away from doing? That writing will change an idea into beauty - something to be admired and that's it!
Half written notes, cryptic poems, impulsive, unstructured posts... they are my friends for now. Maybe because they understand my mind and don't let the secrets out...