i asked myself. Why the hell i write? what i get out it?
then i thought of a day when i'm not writing, and the reason for that.... I'm dead. to me the best thing is to think... its as simple as to me as sleeping (sometime with someone). but things are still hazy, why do i write. its not love poems or some great comedy, it just like me another one in billion. probably that loneliness inside, while sitting with demi-gods makes me write.
i love to be alone but not in a crowd... but i'm pretty happy. atleast people dont pretend to be in love with me. its good to be ignored, atleast for me. i get my space, my time....my words and sometimes me.
I write to me.
dedicated to myself.
(today i'm not drunk!!! i'm just out of love)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment