Every soul harbours a writer within, as everyone has their own story to tell, their own thoughts to portray. I am one such similar soul, a writer, a storyteller.
My thoughts aren’t prolific and coherent as many others I adore. But they and my pen have been my allies since time immemorial.
It gives me strength and pleasure when the ink flows freely from my pen, when I write, letting my thoughts fly, like an untamed gurgling river flowing incessantly through the times, its water dancing happily through.
Writing gives me power to build my own world.
A world ruled by unwavering, undiluted perceptions of mine which has not yet been tarnished by the stereotypical societal thinking.
Every thought that floats through the mind is beautiful and real as I feel the whole universe is a dense network of frequencies and our thoughts depict them. Every thought you thought to be ethereal and imaginative is actually a figment of the universe within our minds. Thoughts are enchanting and empowering. Writing these thoughts empower. They represent us.
I have vented out my turmoil and jeopardies as well as my utmost joys through pen and ink. Leaving this art was a sin, a mistake so profound that my heart repents and my soul seeks retribution. The power I yielded so proudly vanished into thin air and I was bereft of my precious world of thoughts.
So, I apologise to myself for keeping me from what I love, from barring my thoughts to run uncaged and to have sunk in the shadows of underestimation.
As I yield my sword again, I know it might take some time to sharpen its edges but this time there is no turning back, no running away.