I love to write. I love to feel like I’ve bared my soul in words. I love to feel like I’ve communicated in a language that has strength and influence…
However, I can’t deny that i could do better, I can’t deny that i can try harder. For nothing I’ve written till date has even the least bit of substance that i wish my pieces to portray.
Even if I don’t tell myself this, people that somehow (only God knows how) see my potential in writing always tell me to do more. I’m either closed off. Or I use not enough metaphors. Or I just need to go deeper. (I truly wonder how they see any potential at all)
I want to do better. I want to get over and beyond the potentials they see in me. Over and beyond what I see for myself right now. I keep wanting to try harder, but how can I get on a journey without directions. Recipe for disaster.
And so here I am, after one of many long days- Which I’m sadly getting used to- writing about writing. I’m confused as to why I’m even doing this. Maybe a push, to ensure I actually try and i don’t give it up… It’s amazing what words can do.