Writing Blog
HealingInk
At the expense of a small wrist dance, I forgot what there was. I forgot the posture, the safety as words hug me, the comfort, the stream falling down my eyes as I hold a pen to write, how it takes the venom out of me, how it kills the illness, suffocates the worries and ease the pain. I forgot the healing at the end, how I read the self-made prescription, wipe up the tears and meet a sense of closure, moving on.
Welcome
English is not my first language. It is the language I used to alienate others. Now, It embodies my thoughts and feelings. Reading what I once wrote calms me down. By sharing my writings with you, I hope you'll find the same effect or any other pleasures in reading them.
Writing compels us to think about the meanings of things we often assume are givens.
Estela Mara Bensimon
