I have written a
million writings and a hundred thousand poems, a hundred thousand papers got
crumpled and thrown away and a hundred thousand papers are hidden somewhere
waiting for someone to collect all the missing words and place each one in the
suitable place. Maybe the papers are empty because I’m empty, and maybe I’m too
full to spit my thoughts out on paper. Maybe the words are too stubborn and
they refuse to get out; maybe they fell in love with being imprisoned inside my
head. Maybe they don’t want to be released; maybe they don’t know what freedom
is anymore. The possibilities are endless.
Everything I
write is incomplete and unfinished, and an incomplete writing that could be
something turns into nothing due to the nonexistence of the right words. Just like
having the great opportunity to make things right and retrieve what went
missing but instead you fuck everything up by enunciating the wrong words, and
poof, your great opportunity is gone.
Words are ambidextrous;
they can do miracles. They can heal and they can break, it’s prodigious how one
word can change everything forever, and the power of a bunch of words combined
together is matchless. Sometimes you long for those three words that could make
everything better and sometimes you hear this one word that means you and your
soul mate have to part, never to reunite again. That tide of emotions and
feelings you get when you hear those words you have always wanted to hear from
that special somebody and you carry those words inside your heart for a
lifetime. What about those words that shatter you and turn you into absolute
nothingness? Those words that fuck everything up, those words that make it hard
for you to breathe.
And once
again I’m wordless and uninspired. And once again I let one of my writings remain
incomplete forever.
