I do not know. I do not remember when I decided to write for the very first time. What was that moment when I must have thought inking was better than telling? What was that moment when I sought solace in the empty pages of a diary rather than in people who claimed they deserved my trust? Was it when my blood denied my color? Was it when my batchmates moved away from me? Was it when the teacher skipped me because I took some time to think? Was it when my kinfolk ignored me because I was too ill?
It must have been a moment of sadness when my words went unheard that I thought of registering on a page. It must have been a moment of pain when my cries were ignored and I poured my emotions into the back of a notebook.
It hurts, you know. I love filling these pages with beautiful words, broken poems, obscure sentences, and abandoned memories, but the whys and wherefores are themselves my brokenness and moments where I was abandoned.
- Oizys.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments for this blog are held for moderation before they are published to the blog.
I will read them and publish them. Be patient and do not fear to pour your heart into it.