I realized a couple of days ago, how I am so fond about writing. I even realized when I get upset about something, how I am so quick to think of writing it in my journal. I’ve been writing since the age of eight (somewhere in that area) I’ve been loving to write, but I took a huge break from it and now I’m playing catch up, on my lost now found perfection.
Writing relieves so much agony it also releases pressure as well. It’s like a natural medicine that’s already instilled in my blood, to heal every aching pain that’s within. For the people that writes, have you ever realized how pen and paper is always around? Compare the two between a human, Paper and Pens.
Matter of fact use this scenario…friends, Paper and Pens. How close are you with your friends, and how close are you to your paper and pens. Can you count on your friend(s) to hold your secrets without saying a peep? Are your friend(s) silent like a piece of paper? Are they sturdy about your feelings, do they understand, can they hold your hand, can you write on their hearts, are they sensitive to the speaks you speak, can they hear through the silence, do they know that you are actually talking? My honest opinion no…I feel theirs no human can hold much water like a piece of paper can.
Even though a wet piece of paper still rips, but the words that’s on the paper rips as well…what I’m trying to say is, nothing can part take on a hearts emotions like a piece of people can. That piece of paper fades the words smear, both is washed away by the current.
I don’t care what no one saids…no one can honestly understand the mind and life of a writer, regardless if we verbally tell you anything to your face. My emotions are ocean deep, my feelings are like vapors when it comes to expressing my feelings on paper.
My atmosphere is pretty much detailed but I still will refuse to talk to man about what actually goes on in my heart and mind. I certainly don’t have a problem with whipping out my journal and pouring my thoughts onto the many papers that I will fill. Paper and pen have been my closed friends for two decades, I remember when I use to be alone, that imaginary friend was my diary and my pen.
