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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 eases 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.

Here, everything spills into three quiet corners. A love of lines, where I collect words written by others that feel like they were somehow meant for me too. Diary entries, where life is kept as it is, unfiltered, unpolished, just lived. And creative writings, where I try to turn what is inside into something I can finally look at without it burning.

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A Rant

Peaceangel
Nov 30, 2019
1 min read

Updated: Oct 16, 2020

The confusion I feel when thinking about you is higher than the one I feel when attempting to solve mathematical problems.

And, God knows as well as you how much I hate them and how much they confuse me.

You confuse me when you say something to act like you never said it the following day.

You confuse me when I find contradictions in your behaviour.

I know you are not the kind that contradicts himself.

You are too smart to do that.

Everything you do has a purpose.

Tell me, then, how could you mean this and that at the same time?

Photo by Orkun Azap on Unsplash

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