I want to write.
I want to write.
I want to write.
Write what? The pangs of survivor's guilt that sink into my gut every time I catch sight of the naked druggie under jinnah bridge? He's been naked for four days now. No one bothers to give him a cover. Least of all me.
Or write about that fantastic idea for a short story tucked away into a corner of my mind? The story of hormonal love a 14 year old girl and a 16 year old boy who smooch on Facebook and go to HotSpot and have the satisfaction of having a "relationship"?
Maybe even pen a poem-- a pathetic love poem tinged with sorrow under a pretense of happiness. Then have the world assume I cry heartbroken over an ex who doesn't even exist. Was it he who spends hours laughing with her in the SuperStore windows? I swear I saw them last night in the parking lot. Or was it the famed man whore from A levels who's name she's been associated with on every Lucas post? I swear I knew they had never called it quits.
Or maybe write about what we think is the meaning of life? Where do we go from here? Do we even know what here is? Then again what exactly is here? If we get here how will we get there? Is there just an illusion of here?
So much to write on.
Lack of willpower you say?
Maybe just maybe write on all four.
Touche.
I want to write.
I want to write.
Write what? The pangs of survivor's guilt that sink into my gut every time I catch sight of the naked druggie under jinnah bridge? He's been naked for four days now. No one bothers to give him a cover. Least of all me.
Or write about that fantastic idea for a short story tucked away into a corner of my mind? The story of hormonal love a 14 year old girl and a 16 year old boy who smooch on Facebook and go to HotSpot and have the satisfaction of having a "relationship"?
Maybe even pen a poem-- a pathetic love poem tinged with sorrow under a pretense of happiness. Then have the world assume I cry heartbroken over an ex who doesn't even exist. Was it he who spends hours laughing with her in the SuperStore windows? I swear I saw them last night in the parking lot. Or was it the famed man whore from A levels who's name she's been associated with on every Lucas post? I swear I knew they had never called it quits.
Or maybe write about what we think is the meaning of life? Where do we go from here? Do we even know what here is? Then again what exactly is here? If we get here how will we get there? Is there just an illusion of here?
So much to write on.
Lack of willpower you say?
Maybe just maybe write on all four.
Touche.
