***
Finding solace
In an air-conditioned space,The city slept
While I wandered the streets,
Restless,
Perfecting the ending
Of a sentence.
The cool breeze made me forget
That it was a summer night.
Then, out of nowhere,
A cold whisper
Sent a shiver down my spine.
"You have to choose, my friend.
Be a writer or be content."
"Why can't I be both?"
I asked the emptiness.
And the whisper scoffed at me,
"You and your consistent pursuit
To get the best of both worlds.
Buckle up then!
You are about to be tested."
I stumbled over a rock
And found the ending
I was looking for.
"If a river wants to meet the sea,
Twisting and turning,
It will somehow find its way
Even through the mountains."
If a whisper could smile,
It did, and said,
"We will see."
***
I don't have a million readers - not by choice, obviously - just a handful. But they mean to me as much as the millions would do. And one of those readers reminded me that I had taken a long break and should return to writing again.
Also, Franz Kafka said, "A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity."
Without putting his theory to the test, I am restarting my blog with a new name: Whispers and Words.
Why?
It's because not all of my thoughts translate into words. Some die in a whisper.
"Some thoughts were never meant to be spoken; their quiet fading is the only truth they needed to tell."
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