i dont know why i write maybe im just one of those drama students on an impromptu acting assignment, where the world is their stage, and the roles they assume are the ones that fall from the back of their heads when they close their eyes to blink and think of their first line.
maybe i am like that, maybe i am superficial, i wear a mask when i write, i wear different colors, red, blue and black, sometimes i am naked and i let my heart bleed into the pages, sometimes i am ice and i freeze time in between phrases, but since my masks and my skin have become too entangled, i cannot take off my face and know for certain if it is me, if it’s my story, my sadness, my grief..
i only truly write when i am homeless, when i am without roots and nobody holds me down and hugs me and tells me i am theirs, i belong to them and theirs for the keeping, i only truly write when i need to forget, because writing things down removes the burden from my mind, it removes the need to remember, because somewhere, in some obscure corner, it is written, it is immortalized in words, thus there is no need to have it forever stamped in my mind,
there is freedom when i write, i can dream, i can fly, i decide when to go, what to do, who to be with, and who/where/what to stay away from.. i can be real when i write, i can feel, truly feel. it’s like looking at my reflection from a clear running water, it shows the ugliness, and all the sadness i keep behind my eyes.
i write of beauty, i write of pain, sometimes i write of all the ugly that is me, i write everything and nothing at all, because i have no meaning, my words are its own excuse for being. i never write about how it is to be happy, happy is a thought i keep locked away inside my heart, happy is something i dont want to forget, so i never want to write it down.. there are no words to describe great emotions, it is physical pain for me to try to capture moments in words that dont quite fit.. that is why happy stays at that remote place inside my heart, and therein it will stay for a long while more..
summer is almost over, and september is just around the corner… ah september, it will be a month of silence for me.. i will try to look for happiness falling down on side streets, and i will fill my pockets with it, i will not write it down lest i forget how it fills my lungs. i will be in hiatus, i will be looking over a cliff, deciding if i should jump into the chasm, or fly over it.. i will be quiet, i will be invisible, i will be without a voice, nor a footprint, i will stay this way till i find myself homeless again,
thank you for trying to make sense of me, the best that you can.. maybe one of these days you will find me walking beside you, you carrying your canvas, and me carrying my notebooks, i will share with you my words, my stories, and you can show your paintings to me =)
till then, i will be the soft voice at the tip of your tongue, and i will taste you when i close my eyes at night.