Writing Is A Lonely Task

But you’ve got to do it.

Writing is a lonely task.

It may ask a lot from you sometimes,

making you grind every word

from the depths of hell —

there is no promise of eternity,

and no promise of salvation.

Those starry nights are chasms in time,

witnesses of a long-devised saga —

elements

staying afloat

riddles unsolved

more than we will ever know.

Those nights,

these are words,

and no matter how much hope you muster

words they shall remain.

They will live

for a day or two,

and if you are lucky,

they may stick out for a while longer.

But ultimately,

like all things,

they will perish.

Those nights will bring no promised land,

but the realization of a speck of dust

blowing through a prism of fleeting sand.

On those nights,

writing will be a lonely task,

but you got to do it.

You need to embrace the blankness —

even if it leads you down the rabbit hole,

even if you begin to ooze blood

Out of your weary soul —

You cannot stop.

You cannot let

emptiness pin you down,

you got to dive into it,

and let yourself drown.

On those nights,

you must toil

and not let pain make you wither

but let it purify you

into a new becoming.

When you will have done that,

you will know,

that writing is a lonely task

but much lonelier when done alone.