I'm not good at writing about pain. I'm not good at reading about it either. Yet, it's just pain that I feel these days. And I'm tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for that perfect idea that would transform into a perfect piece of writing to give me that creative satisfaction which I so wrongly long for. Tired of keeping myself busy with all the things that don't matter. Tired of these tiny notches of useless thoughts clouding my mind all day and vanishing just the moment I sit to write, to have me wildly searching for anything.. any word.. any damn thing.. Like now.. Like everytime I try to write..
I'm yet to encounter a feeling more painful than repeatedly trying to succeed at something and failing. Of course there's one at nights when you feel your life is going nowhere. One where you so desperately want to speak to someone and have nobody to call. One where you feel so terribly alone and inconsequential to this world. The one where you are desperately trying to hold onto things which are slipping by in front of you knowing very well there's nothing you can do about it.. One where you muster the courage to give something your best shot only to see it falling to pieces, making you feel like a loser. And the one where you are lying in your bed tightly hugging your pillow hoping that someone would come and hug you just as hard and for a moment all this would stop mattering.
This one moment when you don't want to fight anymore.. you just want to be, saved.