About writing

It is easier to read super thick books rather than writing a single paragraph.
I can spend hours dealing with unfamiliar words in an ebook that pops up on my laptop screen, writing and finding their meaning, even memorizing (some of) them. However, it is not that simple to write, simply just to write something on a blank page.
It is true that writing takes courage, a great deal more than just a skillful hand dancing on a piece of paper or wry mind that forms list of words. It is also true that, sometimes, my extremely high expectation on what I will write is killing my own strength to keep on writing. In fact, while I'm writing this down my inner critics keep yelling that my grammar is not right and that I can find better vocabularies to describe my thoughts.
I don't know for how long, but I determined to write everyday no matter how many BSs that I'm going to write, because sometimes those piece of shit writings is not bunch of shit writing at all, they are diamonds.


PS. So far, I've changed my blog's title three times already. I think I'm going to change it again and again until I find the right one.

Alone

After all of those noises, all I could hear was silence.
The silence that cut through my chest like scalpel that tore my heart out. 
It seemed like the world had stopped moving and I trapped  inside this empty rooms of my world. Alone.
I turned my head and looked around, but all I could see were things stood still, unmoved. Only the wind whispered through the tiny space above the un-open window, blew the curtains and breathed the coldness inside the lungs of concrete. The evening sun beamed through the same spot where the wind came in, making the stillness even more visible.The annoying buzz from the aquarium almost feels like the buzz in my head, echoing all the time.
I sat facing the my own reflection on the half-opened mirror door and i saw nothing but a pale face and tired eyes. 


Was it me or my fever that makes this solitude acted as an outsider?
Neither of them can help me to comprehend.
Is it fear I let go further?
Or just another agony to mend?