Write

Write. It’s the inner voice that persists in the background. It becomes louder when you are more self-aware, when external distractions lose their strength.  You are with your own thoughts. Wondering. Trying to give them a face. There is though confusion. You feel overwhelmed. There is so much inside. Boiling. Maybe it will fade once you grab a book. Still not. You start feeling fidgety. The clock is ticking. What? You need to do something immediately. The book. No. You know reading won’t bring calmness; maybe it will just anesthetize you for a while. But you don’t need that. You don’t feel the need to enter a new world and shut down your own world. It is not a need; it is a desire.  The desire to express your own world. It is an urge, waiting to come out. You want to feel the vapors of your ideas surrounding you. Something that is yours. To feel alive. The more you block this urge, the more you feel enclosed in yourself.  But you want to free yourself. Throw away the chains. Why is it so hard? You become angry. At yourself. ‘Why do I feel so powerless?’, you ask. You become confused. Even angrier. You question your abilities. If it doesn’t come easily, am I not good enough? Is this desire in fact not an obligation? The thoughts that have been waiting to flow give way to analysis. Self-analysis. The focus is on your core self now, not your thoughts. It’s not about expression anymore. It’s about your existence.