Torn From The Pages Of My Diary
I wonder why I write. I wonder why people do what they do. When do we decide what we want to do for the rest of our lives? How do we guarantee that we will be doing these things forever even?
I guess that's why people have freewill and the freedom to hold on or to let things go. But where does that will arise from? Where do those inner urges find the right moment to say: now is the time to hold on or now is the time to let go?
I've picked up the pen as a kid, not clearly remember why however. I tried to make sense of my world as seen through the eyes of my goldfish in a poem. I created stories and sold them to my classmates. A part of me just clicked with how words fit on a page and how it is possible for me to combine them to create a life completely distinct from my reality.
I remember joining my high school paper. I remember heading that publication. I took up Journalism and slaved through articles. Now I continuously battle with drafts and proofs and technical jargon completely alien to me just a few months back.
What part of me decided to write?
What part of you decided to do what you do?
I wonder if this will ever make sense to me.
I wonder, I wonder, oh boy do I wonder.
I guess that's why people have freewill and the freedom to hold on or to let things go. But where does that will arise from? Where do those inner urges find the right moment to say: now is the time to hold on or now is the time to let go?
I've picked up the pen as a kid, not clearly remember why however. I tried to make sense of my world as seen through the eyes of my goldfish in a poem. I created stories and sold them to my classmates. A part of me just clicked with how words fit on a page and how it is possible for me to combine them to create a life completely distinct from my reality.
I remember joining my high school paper. I remember heading that publication. I took up Journalism and slaved through articles. Now I continuously battle with drafts and proofs and technical jargon completely alien to me just a few months back.
What part of me decided to write?
What part of you decided to do what you do?
I wonder if this will ever make sense to me.
I wonder, I wonder, oh boy do I wonder.