The Incurable Itch

There are some things I have to force myself to do and I end up doing it with sheer effort. But the most special thing is the thing I have done since I was little, the thing that never feels like work and always feels like play, and the thing that stays constant in the flows and ebbs of life: writing. I love it so much that even if I don’t get anything out of it, I feel happy filling out a page with words. It just comes out. Even if other people don’t read it, the reward is in the writing itself.

It’s probably a disease with no cure. I don’t really mind a lifetime of writing. I just end up writing anywhere I go and it’s a good thing, I guess. It is some sort of anchor to an otherwise chaotic thread. It helps me sort things out, it helps me convey my deepest and shallowest thoughts, and it is part of who I am as a person. I can’t even recall when I started doing this. I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. And I don’t see myself stopping anytime.

What is it for? I have used it for a great deal of purposes already but I think I want to explore more this year. I want to write more and do more things with the technique and I strongly believe that the time is ripe to do so.

 

 

 

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