Sometimes, like today, I open a word file in front of me and stare at the white page with a blank feeling that I want to translate into words, and of course I fail.
I’ve been asked if I’m stopping my blogging activity, and I am not. I am not stopping because my activity decided to stop on its own. Words do escape, seem so repetitive and boring; like increasing hollow black spaces on a white paper.
Yesterday was my first time to use a pen and paper for inspiration, and listen to radio in many years. Mmm.. Remember when we used to say, it’s been days, then months, now it’s years, such an easy way to put it. It’s been years. Hell yeah! It’s been years! And other years expected to come? I wonder how hollow these will be.
Yesterday I also discovered that I don’t have any rituals that cheer me up. Not a favorite place or favorite voice I’d like to listen to when I’m down. In fact, when I’m down I’d like to be left alone. I don’t want to talk or hear anybody’s voice, or see or know about anybody. Tell me, how many times do I have to say I hate pictures so pictures would leave me alone?.. how many time I need to say I hate life and living, so life would forget me finally?
Am I trapped?
Trapped in fear of going somewhere of no return or staying where I am where no way forward?
@Serag told me yesterday, we will always be trapped somewhere even in our own imaginations. True. But what if you don’t have imagination to be trapped to?
What should you do when you understand suddenly that the sky is just void, not a dream to go up to. When you finally realize you can’t really fly because of your weight and gravity and you can’t really dance because it is haram. Tell me, what should I do when I know I can’t really live a life I want because that’s the way it’s meant to be. Living miserable inside, no matter how I tried to cheer myself up, because I don’t have my own rituals, and I don’t have favorite place, song, or person. What should I do now, when I’m begging myself to feel better.. and left with a blank feeling in front of an empty paper?
Everything and everyone will soon disappear and go away, os why bother?
Why linger to a dying hope? And empty promises?
Sometimes like yesterday, when I stare at my empty page I wonder, what is the meaning of life?.. what’s the wisdom behind the fact that everything will end, die or disappear at the end?.. What is the trick that makes everything look not the way they really are?..
“There is no spoon” my friend.. though you might be the one who did create that one..
Sometimes, sometimes like yesterday I dream of escaping, to start somewhere new away from the blank page. And so I try to look for another blank page that might be inspiring this time.. but trapped to the fact.. it will be a similar, if not identical, one..
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