Not a mere writer’s block. Yet, I continuously omit strange and meaningless writings on innocent sheets of paper. With long hours of nothing, I’m pouring down my second cup of coffee from the french press. Coffee accompanied by a blank slate feels like a disgrace to the environment.

How little should I have known there are much deeper depths than the actual writer’s block. An unbearable, yet beautifully expressed, composition where readers always dread to digress.

If and only if you can utter that there’s nothing ‘okay’ in what’s happening. At the very least, let their assumptions play with their heads. The truths are only infected once hit the outside air.

More people have flown away, and funny enough, there are as many reunions.  It’s ironic to see everyone happily despite the dead body encased in a coffin. It will always be the endless honk of horns, as well as the importance of million dollar companies that regard people as ‘numbers.’

That’s not the least of problems. Once you struggle, only you understand. There’s no need to dig down and convince. People will not understand, they change your mind. If they say you endure, you should, but they shouldn’t interfere with peace.

One step upward is one great achievement. Call me a thief and call me a liar. My reputation has been in the best shape. There will be more truths and promises you’ll know too soon. My clean, bare hands had dug deeper and harder. My plateau is not worth your share.

A life not owned, and a life not deserved. I would always find a way to turn things around. Call it as what you want. People do things to make a living, but I do things because I am living.

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