It’s said, an art is best done when the you really feel about something. A guitarist plays his best notes, an artist paints his best painting or a singer composes his best song when he is strongly motivated by something. Love. What word is it? A simple four letter word which brings out the best of emotions in you. When I used to write earlier, I didn’t have to think much. And today, it’s hard to even think about a topic. I have to stop after each and every sentence. It’s like a a person who stammers at his words. He knows what to say, but he is unable to express it.
When people are in love, everything is different. A friend of mine used to hate my writing because each piece was about one single person. But, somehow, writing used to give me a different sense of pleasure. Poems, stories, articles, you name it, and it didn’t seem a difficult task. Today, it’s cumbersome to even think of writing. Somehow, I am clinging to keep the dying spirit alive.
It is the sense of freedom that I have long lost. The feeling is gone and I am here writing shitty, random things. Maybe it doesn’t matter or maybe it does. How does one justify it? When you are in love, you are motivated by everything what the person does. You want to keep listening to them, remembering the memories again and again. You love everything about them. The good things. The bad ones. You love being cared by them. The feeling that someone is there by your side. Listening to you. Caring about you. Thinking about you.
Somewhere, I lost that feeling. All that is left is a void. People say I have become emotionless. And so have my writings too. I used to enjoy writing. The feeling is gone. I rarely get sad or happy now. And, as a matter of fact, I can’t help it. But then I meet someone someday and the same feelings come rushing by (life_fucked). The fear of going through everything is so overwhelming that I start running away from them. I am even afraid to be honest to myself.
I realise, I really need to stop writing. Putting random thoughts does injustice to what writing meant for me. Maybe someday, the motivation will be there again. To feel for someone, to overcome the fear. For the time being, you have to bear with my random thoughts.
That’s how life is. 🙂