An Attemp to write

Sitting in front of my paper and holding my pen in my trembling hands willing to give a try to pour out my heart. I heard once that writing can heal a heart, mend a soul and guide a mind. I needed time to realize that it is true that writing can sometimes fix the unbroken- even in if just partially- , heal the wounds and injuries, and help mitigate all the sorrow. I needed experience to realize that in order to write you have to live so that you accumulate experiences and build stories based on what you learned.

A torrent of emotions invades my heart each time I put my head on the pillow trying to close my tired eyes. A paradox of ideas fills my brain and turns all the sweet dreams into nightmares; nightmares that keeps me awake. A storm of questions troubles my soul and makes it worry. It is frustrating to get stuck in a whirl of negative thoughts that try to make me feel bad about everything. I do sometimes with all I might try to get rid of all the depressing ideas.

I turn off the light whenever I want to cry because I think that I will get cursed to cry in the light. Darkness has always carried my aches, insecurities and pain, and Light has always brought me hope, joy and prosperity. I shout in silence, and I hope that the echoes of my shouts will help alleviate all the pain.

I have to admit that I regret many things; all the unfinished project that I had to give up on, all the opportunities that I had to let go, to all the people I lost, all the times I stayed awake all night worrying too much about things.

After all:

Life with all its enigmatic secrets puzzles the way we live.